Metroid Prime: Renegade
by Frogus
Summary: Samus, torn by her own quest for vengeance, finds no peace when she needs it the most; suddenly, she has become an outlaw of a changed Federation, and her only hope for survival lies with her worst enemies
1. Chapter 1

_Author's Note: The events of this story take place between Metroid Prime 2 and Metroid Prime 3 (because I have yet to finish the latter : ). Further, this story is connected to my oneshot "The Death of Dark Samus," which behaves now as a sort of unofficial, nonessential prologue._

_Anyway, enjoy!_

--

Metroid Prime: Renegade

Chapter 1

The platform hissed shut behind her, sealing off the steady _pit-pat_ of the rain and leaving her with an empty silence. As she walked to the pilot's station, every motion dragged with the weight of defeat despite her victory. Her stumbling steps. The great rise and fall of her scarred shoulder pads in synch with her quick, shallow breaths. The way she fell into the pilot's chair, her helmet ringing with her own coughs, and blindly punched in the coordinates with her hands as they trembled inside their gauntlets. She examined those hands, as if seeing them for the first time, and shook her head, trying to dispose of the thoughts that were brooding within.

_What have I become?_

The ship ascended into the heavens. She staggered into her compact quarters, sliding onto the bed, until realizing that she had neglected to remove her power suit. She decided she didn't care. Its alloy had become her skin, its power core her heart, its visors the defined scopes through which she perceived the world. All that existed now was the hunter, was only vengeance, just as Metroid Prime—or Dark Samus, as it had been dubbed by the Federation to accommodate its most recent incarnation—was only Phazon. She wondered, as she had countless times since the incident, if there had been something more to the creature than Phazon. And her—was there something more to her than vengeance?

She remembered the heat of that vengeance, filling her veins, alighting her eyes, an insane sort of hatred for the Space Pirates who had murdered her parents. That emotion had power, had potential, had motivated her to accomplish feats that would otherwise have been well beyond her physical and cognitive capabilities. Her hatred had been her passion, had been the compensation for all the love that was stolen from her life. But that seemed ages ago. In six years hence, she had taken more lives than were due to her. The fire had dwindled. She was left in the cold, yearning now just for solitude.

Yet she still pressed on. And that is what she feared. She wanted stillness. But, even without the fire, that same vengeance pushed her on, dispassionately, impersonally, as if she were caught in a rushing river and too focused on staying barely afloat to escape the current that dragged her interminably along. Laying silently in her quarters, tears formed in her eyes that reflected the light from the stars. She blinked, frustrated that her body and mind were too exhausted to initiate sleep, and cocked her head so she could peer out the window. There, the planet rotated tranquilly in space as if to mock the woman carrying the wounds it had incurred. She stared drowsily into it, listening as the superluminal engine booted up, emitting a high-pitch tone that reminded her of so many screams—those of her mother and of her father, of the beings she had hunted and killed, and of that girl inside her head, screaming eternally for them all.

Then, she was flung into the stars.

--

Unaii watched _Hunter Seven_ floating statically in space around the planet. He pondered the possibility of taking her then and there and be done with the whole business, using manual targeting to avoid locking detection. Click a few buttons, and the scourge of his race could be blasted to the next galaxy. Yet he hesitated. Too many of his kin had perished from such foolish overconfidence. The personal glory of taking the girl's head for himself was appealing, but it did not predominate the fat possibility that _his_ ugly head would end up on _her_ spear. Then again, how many others had died in those vulnerable moments of skittish hesitation?

He growled in frustration over his ambivalence, finally resolving to accumulate reinforcements, convincing himself that he was merely being prudent. Hurriedly—the hyperdrive engines on _Hunter Seven_ had started glowing—he initiated a subspace comlink with his superior.

"I've got her," he said in the harsh tones of his language, "She's about to jump though—I'll give you the coordinates upon pursuit." Already, _Hunter Seven_ had blinked out of the system. He began calculating its trajectory and punching in a pursuit course.

"Don't lose her, or it's your life," his superior said.

The voice chilled Unaii's heart. It was an odd thing indeed to hear the Zebesian tongue—to hear words so often barked from one Space Pirate to another—spoken so smoothly by a human.

"We have arrived at the destination," said the computer.

--

Samus' eyes exploded open, and a surge of adrenaline lifted her from her bed as if she had some terrible nightmare there. Her body always jumped to a state of alertness whenever was cognitively aware of her own wakefulness, a habit formed out of too many early wake-up calls from Space Pirates and assassins. She took a minute to slow her pulse and deepen her breath and ingest the darkness of her quarters. Slowly, self-consciously, she walked over to the mirror.

"Lights."

Her heart stumbled in shock. A listless visor stared back at her. Had she simply fallen asleep with her power suit on? For a minute, she stared into the reflection of herself, wondering of the implications of this oversight. Finally, she reasoned, she had just been so fatigued that she had forgotten to remove the suit. Simple as that. She could have made the same mistake years ago. Putting her thoughts aside, she felt for the sides of the helmet and unlocked it from the rest of the suit. There was a sudden movement of air as the internal atmosphere of the suit merged with that of the ship. Steadily, she lifted the helmet off her head.

In a twist of horror, she realized that she was wearing yet another helmet beneath, and the first helmet came crashing to the floor. Instinctively, she reached towards her face—but yes, in the place of her soft skin was bitter metal.

Panic began to overwhelm her. This defied all reason, all rationality she could muster. The helmet that looked back at her was the helmet of the Dark Suit that she had gained on Aether, with its bright, pumpkin-colored visor. She tore it off, only to find the crimson gleam of the Phazon Suit from Tallon IV stare wickedly into her soul. Where was her face? Where was the woman behind all these masks?

"Unidentified craft detected."

Her eyes exploded open again, but this time her body was already in a state of alarm, not only because of the terrifying dream, but because the ship's alarms had whipped her mind back into reality. "Unidentified craft detected," the computer repeated in an indifference that seemed to mock Samus' riled emotions. She rose swiftly to the bed and returned to the cockpit. She examined the interface, trying to discern the ship's model and intent.

A flash of light caught her eyes. Her blood pulsed in her ears, then seemed to stop, as if anticipating what was to come.

"Shields to maxi—"

An explosion rocked the ship and battered her to the floor.

"Shields to maximum!" she roared, head reeling. "Evasive sequence one!"

The ships engines screamed to life.

Samus snapped to her feet again, tossed her frazzled hair aside, and jumped into the pilot's chair. The assailer was in close pursuit, unleashing missile after missile while spraying her shields with emerald energy bolts. She brought up a visual of it. Unsurprisingly, it was a high-class Space Pirate interceptor, presumably with enhanced firepower and shielding. Lone assassins only came with top technology, especially the assassins that dealt with her.

She was in for a scuffle.

Then again, maybe she wasn't. Three Federation interceptors dropped out of warp just ahead, and Samus relaxed mentally. It was suspiciously fortunate, she knew, that a squadron of Federation ships would show up just at the right time and place to help her here, well beyond Federation space, but sometimes one just gets lucky. But when they, too, started to open fire on her ship, she realized that she indeed was in for a little more than just a scuffle.

Her luck, it seemed, had run out long before this encounter.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

"Pray you have good news, lieutenant," said the general.

"The best, sir."

"Speak the good news, lieutenant."

"I have her in my sights, sir. The mission will be over in minutes."

On the other end of the visual channel, a crimson flash glinted off the lieutenant's blue visor, confirming the good news.

"Very well, lieutenant. But take precaution. She would not be such a threat if she wasn't a dangerous target. Remember, however, that I want her nothing less than terminated. Knowing the prime minister's...tendencies, if she is not dead within the hour, _somebody_, will be, and I assure you it will not be me."

"Understood, sir."

"Good fortune to you, lieutenant."

"For the Republic, sir."

"For the Republic."

--

Samus didn't have time to question, only to think fast and stay alive. As her fingers shot wildly around the interface, the thought occurred to her that she indeed had never removed her power suit. It was met at first with residual fear from her nightmare, but that, with a little help from the adrenaline electrifying her body, was promptly shoved aside out of necessity.

The three Federation interceptors swooped continually around _Hunter Seven_, maintaining a tight delta formation and unleashing a fusillade of energy bolts on every pass. Meanwhile, the Space Pirate interceptor battered her shields from behind, always keeping almost ridiculously close on her tail. She returned fire to all ships, but with little avail.

She rerouted the power from her weapons to her shields. What she needed was time to think, not firepower. She could initiate warp, but they would follow her, and the battle would resume in a hyperspace corridor that was much less maneuverable than normal space, and, with the nearest Federation colony—if she could trust the Federation—was several light years away, she would be vaporized long before she could get help.

"Shield output failing," said the computer. Hundreds of kilometers ahead, the three Federation interceptors swopped down to embark on a frontal assault—a direct collision course. But if her shields failed, the only collision would be with the harmless remains of her ship.

She watched them as they grew closer, first appearing as three glittering dots against a backdrop of stars. Then there came the shapes, then the colors. In a less than a minute, she knew, they would unleash a torrent that her sputtering shields would not be able to withstand.

"Dammit!" she yelled. She opened a channel to the lead Federation vessel. An unparticular, helmeted face appeared on her screen. The pilot's eyes were completely concealed beneath a solid blue visor.

"Why are you attacking me?" she spat.

"You are an enemy of Republic," he said flatly.

"What Republic? The Federation? I have been doing its dirty work for years!"

"The Federation as you know it is no more. The Republic has no need for your operations; the days of needless violence are over," he said with an oddly informative tone.

"Then what do you call this? Let me talk to your superiors! You're making a mistake, buddy!"

"I'm sorry, mam', but my orders are to destroy you and your ship."

"Are you kidding me?" she roared, laughing insanely at the man's absurd display of politeness. He terminated the link.

Samus bit her lip. For the first time ever, she was panicking in the heat of battle.

--

Unaii watched as his guns tore up the shields of Samus' ship. Finally, he thought, this menace of his people would be eradicated. Over the last six years of his life, the only stories he had heard were the ones revolving around her, the thorn embedded deep in the side of his species. Now, there would be retribution.

The shields of _Hunter Seven _flickered once more. Then, they died completely. He did not let up on his attack. No, he could not toy with her, could not make her suffer as she deserved. As a precautionary measure, her death would be swift and efficient.

Two missiles would do it; otherwise, his energy bolts would be melting away at her hull for hours. He locked on his targeting system to her superluminal engines; the concussive blast would rupture the core, thermo-plasma would disintegrate the ship, and he would leave behind only a bit of space dust where a hunter and her ship had once flown. His slender fingers hovered over the firing buttons. He paused suddenly to breathe in his satisfaction at this moment, a moment he had been envisioning ever since Samus had stolen away his only chance for solace in his life.

Yes, he could see her, even now. Though it was merely his imagination, he was as certain of it as if he was seeing it in his own eyes: a sudden, shallow, feminine gasp as Samus realized that her shields had failed; two beady eyes, small as a human's, looking desperately to the surroundings for any means of escape, only to find doom looking back; a sudden rush of panic coursing through her mind as she became aware of her fate; and then, finally, a curse—a curse to the whole Space Pirate race, a last action of contempt before being vaporized. Yes, she would be indignant, would be scornful, would be nefarious until the very last nanosecond of her life.

His eyes narrowed. The personal glory that he would achieve in this very moment would compensate for anything that Samus had taken from him. An impetuous, electrifying charge of fury and confidence bolted through is body.

He fired.


	3. Chapter 3

Unaii pulled to the left to clear the explosion, making so close of a pass by a human ship—one of the squadron—that he clipped its shields, cancelling the shields of both ships out. He turned into a circle, intending to survey his work. In space, there are no explosions of fire, as there is no oxygen to sustain it. Explosions from missiles typically result in a series of interlocking violet rings expanding together from a central point; often, debris travels with them like wreckage on waves. It was quite a beautiful phenomenon, which, at this point, Unaii did not find in any way ironic. Indeed, what was not beautiful about this moment?

Yet something told him to postpone the elation. His memory prodded him to review the last few seconds. He closed his eyes, allowing the scene to play out before him. He had locked _Hunter Seven_ to his targeting system. He had pushed down on the firing trigger, hard. He had watched the missiles—bright orange globes—propel ahead of his ship. He had smiled as they gradually narrowed the gap between his ship and their target.

Then…

--

The helm of _Hunter Seven_ was a light show, and blood-red was its dominant color. At two-thousand miles per hour, Samus was already straining the engines of her ship. Nevertheless, at a few more miles per hour, the missiles were closing the gap. They had programmed not only to be bloodthirsty but precise, they adjusted to any slight variance in the gunship's path.

Meanwhile, the Federation squadron—or the Republic squadron—had entered range and opened fire ahead of her, washing the viewscreen with green plasma and obstructing her view entirely.

"Intriguing," she breathed.

"Warning: impact imminent," the computer said.

With the deftness of a piano player, her fingers played the interface, diverting power from the negated shields back to the weapons and opening all ports of fire upon the lead Federation ship.

"Five."

Within the thermoglass viewcreen, Samus saw the suited figure that was her reflection. It glowed green as the Federation ships continued to batter her with energy bolts.

"Four."

"Thank you," she whispered to that reflection. She veered the ship slightly above the trajectory of the Federation squadron.

"Three."

Her suited fingers gripped the controls. _Will the differential be enough?_

"Two."

She inhaled.

"One."

--

Lieutenant Markman raised an eyebrow. Suddenly and inexplicably, the target had resumed fire upon him. The red bolts, characteristic of the Hunter class, obscured his viewscreen entirely. This was a rather spastic decision; it would accomplish nothing but momentarily weaken his port shields—if she wanted to go out with a bang, she was failing. With every emitter on her ship trained solely on him, though, he conceded that it must look fairly epic.

Lieutenant Markman never came to fully grasp Samus' true intentions. Shortly after the fire has ceased and his viewscreen had cleared, two missiles, unhindered by the lieutenant's weak port shields, plummeted into his ship.

--

She exhaled.

At the last second, she had swooped down from her heightened flying plane, barely missing the Federation ships as they came forward and caught the two missiles.

Timing was everything when your life depended on it.

Yet she had no reason to rejoice. As far as she knew, there were still two Federation ships hunting her, not to mention the Space Pirate craft. And her shields were down, and there would be no reviving them. In correspondence with her bad fortune, the explosion had scarred the plating and fried the propulsion system during her narrow escape. The shockwave had also thrown _Hunter Seven_ into a direction that was neither forward nor backward, but, despite the properties of space, could only be described as _down_. Now, without any friction to stop it, _Hunter Seven_ was essentially drifting—albeit at hundreds of miles per hours—through empty space.

And, perhaps the worst development of all: the Space Pirate ship had rediscovered her and had set in a pursuit course, and its pilot was very likely seething by this point. As if in articulation of this, a third missile came soaring brightly towards _Hunter Seven_.

"Warning: impact in twenty seconds."

Samus did not hesitate. She had no fancy tricks this time. Sitting in her ship would be like sitting on a bomb. The only direction of escape now was out. There would be no time for a clean getaway. Fortunately, she had neglected to remove her power suit. With a few commands, her arm cannon rematerialized around her right arm.

"Goodbye, _Hunter Seven_."

"Goodbye, Samus Aran," responded the computer as indifferently as ever.

Samus blasted the viewscreen with a missile and submitted to the vacuum.

--

Unaii's jaws clenched tightly together. Unsurprisingly, Samus had turned out to be very clever. He enjoyed the challenge. It would not matter anyway; her little stunt had merely postponed her imminent undoing. Now, without her controls, she was in an even worse position than before.

His missile plummeted into _Hunter Seven_, tearing its guts apart. Debris was carried miles in all directions, silhouetted by a great flash of light with bright, purple rings. After the explosion had disseminated, he brought his ship for a close view. He wanted to admire his work.

All he found were ruins.

His lips contorted into a smile. Beautiful. And he, no Federation lackey, had done it. He, Unaii Gar-Nalgean. And the people would speak his name.

--

Samus floated statically in space. After she had exited, the ship had continued its drift course until the missile had turned it into a field of charred space debris. Now, the Space Pirate was headed the same way she had just come, perhaps to survey his kill.

He was travelling at several hundred miles per hour. Again, timing would be everything. She readied herself, using her suit's internal computer to calculate the precise speed of the ship, the distance at which, in current trajectory and her position in space, it would bypass her, and the amount of time her next motion would take. The rest would be reflexes and instinct. She readied herself.

As it came upon her in a blur, she reached out with her grappling hook. The energy stream shot out of her cannon and adhered itself to the ship's starboard fin, and she went flying with it. For a few moments, she pulsated with a mixture of amusement and triumph. As the ship towed her onwards, the little girl in her laughed at the thought that she was the first person ever to go cosmic skiing.

Then, she began to imagine if—

The Space Pirate ship had reached the debris field and was slowing down.

But _she_ was not slowing down.

Screaming, her greater momentum carried her forward beyond the slowing ship. Her arm snapped; the energy coil had reached its extension, and she was yanked to a stop. But the Space Pirate had not yet come to a complete stop. In fact, it was still travelling at several hundred of miles per hour, and it plowed straight into her.

--

At the helm of his ship, Unaii was sitting comfortably back in his chair, smiling to himself, when a body and several jagged shards of thermoglass smashed into him. His head still spinning, he noticed that several objects were lifting from the floor and whipping past him as the atmosphere of this ship was sucked into space. "Emergency shielding!" he barked as he was lifted away. He promptly collided with the kinetic shield that had formed at the chasm in his viewscreen. Then, he collapsed to the floor—battered, but within the warm (and pressurized) environment of his ship.

Unfortunately, he was also staring down the barrel of Samus Aran's arm cannon.

"Kill me," he hissed in the human language.

She jabbed him with the metallic cannon, blurring his vision. "Why are you trying to kill me?" she said furiously.

"You are a murderer."

"Why are you cooperating with the Federation?"

He did not know the word "cooperation," in the human language, but it was obvious enough what she was asking. "It is the Republic now."

"Are you working for them?"

"No; with them. For myself."

There was an interval of silence. He peered a wall of the deck where his claw attachments had been mounted. They had been intelligently placed there just for a close combat situation like this, when his own command deck was to become a standing ground. He had always thought, however, that intruders would take the elevator instead of bursting through the viewscreen. The equipment had been sucked into space.

He rose from his crumpled position on the floor. The cannon stayed with him precisely, as if it were magnetically attracted to a specific spot on his forehead. He leaned on the interface, feigning exhaustion and pain.

"Why is this 'Republic' after me," she said, "and what happened to the Federation?"

"I don't know. I don't know about human matters."

Unaii discreetly wrapped his foot around the pilot's chair.

"Then tell me about Pirate matters. Your people were about to wage war on the Federation. What changed?"

"We _are_ the Federation."

"What do you mean?"

If he could only reach…

"The Federation and the Space Pirates have become the Republic."

She lowered her arm cannon slightly. "That's impossible."

That was his chance. He leaned back, his left hand struggling to enter the input that would deactivate the kinetic field and send Samus Aran hurling back into space. Suddenly, a burning sensation engulfed his chest.

"Don't try it," the helmeted figure hissed, her arm cannon smoking. "It wouldn't have worked anyway. I don't need your artificial gravity to stay in one place," she said, nodding to her gravity boots.

Breathing heavily, Unaii spat, "why don't you just kill me, hunter?"

"Because I need answers."

"I've no more answers for you."

"Yes, you have."

"What would I hide from you? That the whole galaxy is hunting your head? You've found that out yourself."

Silence.

"No," Unaii continued, regaining his breath and posture, "there is something else that holds you back."

The suited figure observed him listlessly. He looked deeply into that azure, crystalline visor. It reflected his own image back at him, and his appearance awed him. Space Pirates were not vain nor superficial creatures. Mirrors were human trinkets. The only images of himself he had seen over the last few years had been the distorted glints of himself in metals and the faint, warped reflections in thermoglass. Now, he finally saw how much time had taxed him. His eyes had changed from a crisp gold to a pale yellow with tints of deep orange and red. His deep blue skin that used to blend so well with his armor had lost its sheen; now, it was easier to tell where his body ended and the armor began. All Zebesians slouched on account of their narrow midsection combined with the bulky armor they hung upon their torsos, but he seemed to sink to a degree that appeared almost bestial.

An explosion cut his contemplations short. He was tossed to the ground.

"It seems," Samus said, yanking him back up, "that your friends at the Republic aren't really your friends."

He brushed her off angrily and examined the scan terminal. "If you're going to kill me, you'd better do it quickly," he growled. "But be warned, hunter, it is a custom among my people to give a decent fight before dying."

"I know well the customs of your people."

He faced her. "Then destroy me now."

"I would. But I need you to fly us out of here."

"Help you? I prefer death."

She smacked him across the face with her arm cannon. "You_ will _die if you won't get us out of here."

He shrugged off the aggression. "If you die with me, that is a sacrifice I make gladly."

"You will be forgotten amidst the debris of your ship."

"This is not about glory," Unaii said, albeit uncertainly.

She shot him again, once, in the chest. His tough Zebesian armor took the brunt of it, but his skin burned beneath. "Don't pretend," she hissed. "You're a Space Pirate. _Everything_ is about glory. What do you think the story will be, scum? Why do you think they're attacking you now? They're covering you up like the mess you are. In another minute or so, you'll just be another useless casualty in my war against your pathetic race."

Her abrasive words were infuriating. But they were also persuasive.

"Besides, you might find a chance to kill me later."

Her words were _very_ persuasive.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

"The warp drive is down."

"We don't need it. Is there any way I could assist you?"

"No."

"Bring us closer to the planet. If we go critical, we can find refuge there."

"Agreed. I have brought up the shielding again. We can take a few more hits, but…"

Unaii trailed off, too absorbed by his piloting to continue conversation.

Being an interceptor, the interior was tighter than her gunships, but she found sufficient room behind Unaii's chair. The scarlet ambience within the Space Pirate ship bestowed a menacing gleam upon the alien as he worked furiously over an interface glowing with red Zebesian symbols. Aside from these merely superficial differences, Federation and Space Pirate ship systems were fundamentally identical, which was unsurprising, as most of Space Pirate technology had been adapted from stolen Federation crafts.

She closed her eyes, shutting the red glare away. She felt tired. Despite its unusual circumstances, this experience would blend together with scores of its kind. In her mind, her memories of space battles—indeed, all battles—had smeared into a singular conglomeration of raw memory, amorphous, nebulous. No matter the place, no matter the enemy, no matter the odds, fighting was always the same. No Federation, no Space Pirates, no Luminoth, no Chozo. Suddenly there are only two species—you and your enemy. And the future, once home to a trillion possibilities, is populated by only two outcomes—life or death.

Yes, everything was so simple that battle became almost a spiritual event to her. Within her enemies' crosshairs, there could be no doubt. There could be no guilt. There could be no screams echoing down the corridors of her mind, residual of sealed memories. There could only be confidence, only focus, only a singular determination to stay alive. And _that_ always meant that some part of you still wanted to live, that some part of you believed that there was something for which to fight. Even if you could never cognitively label it, it was there. But, when the battles were over, she always doubted it. In all her life, it seemed that nothing good ever came out of bloodshed but guilt. Yes, she knew that many battles she fought were to save good people, to inhibit those who would destroy order and principle, and sometimes, ironically enough, to promote peace. But were these the intents of war? Or were they merely pretenses, veneers to conceal a nature intrinsically and horrifically violent—the nature of all sentient beings?

As she watched that clunky, crustacean-like figure, bent over his controls, locked in that familiar state of deep concentration that made the whole act seem like an art, she wondered what war meant to him and to his people. What were their pretenses? Certainly, they could not be the same. They could not, for themselves, think to themselves that they were saving anybody or anything, for they had never been threatened. Similarly, their conceptualization of order—their hierarchies, their government, their lifestyles—had never been challenged. They could not think that they were promoting peace, for they were always the aggressors. So why did they fight so ferociously against all the good species of the known galaxy?

A blaring alarm ripped her thoughts asunder. "What's that sound?"

"We've lost weapons."

Samus looked to the small, amethyst-colored sphere with no moons. This was not how she intended to visit Jualla VII, but she rarely planned or consented to the events of her life.

"Do you think you can land this thing?"

"Of course, but what are we going to do on the planet? They'll pick us off as soon as they land."

"We'll have better chances down there than up here."

"Why don't you perform more of your stunts?" he said, gesturing to the jagged hole in his viewscreen.

Samus could not tell if he was being sardonic or was seriously asking her. "I'm not a damned acrobat."

Unaii mumbled something in Zebesian until a series of newly blinking lights flickered. "Something is coming out of hyperspace."

Samus bent over him closely to examine the interface. _Several_ things were coming out of hyperspace. She looked to the viewscreen. Ahead, eight space pirate vessels—a squadron of seven interceptors supervised by a destroyer—suddenly appeared, red streaks of warp residue trailing behind them for what seemed to be an infinity.

Samus blinked, pondering the implications these newcomers would have on her fate.

--

"Are _these_ your friends?" said Samus.

"I—I don't know," Unaii said timidly, pulling the ship to a complete stop. The newcomers did not bear the insignia of the Republic, and they looked structurally older than contemporary Space Pirate ships. That was of little consequence, however; the new arrivals unleashed a hurricane of energy on one Federation vessel, tearing it apart in mere nanoseconds. The other vessel managed to jump to hyperspace, whereupon three hungry-looking interceptors detached from the squadron and pursued it in a flash. The lone human would have a chance, but not a good one.

Unaii opened an incoming communications signal, relieved that his death would be slightly postponed by precedent negotiations. The Zebesian that flooded his viewscreen wore carefully synthesized armor indicative of a prestigious rank and enhanced, as Unaii prudently noted, with red Phazon. Behind the dominating figure, within the scarlet-lit environment of the ship, various Space Pirates scrambled about on their various navigational tasks, occasionally hissing to each other insults or barking commands.

"Traitor Unaii," the Zebesian growled in his native tongue, "we have detected a second bioform on your ship. Confirm immediately."

"That's correct."

"Identify that bioform."

He hesitated, aware of how easily his situation could be misinterpreted. "Samus Aran. She has hijacked my ship."

The Zebesians eyes lit up. "Prepare for ingestion."

Unaii winced and looked to the destroyer.

"What did he say?" Samus said in the human language.

He tried his best to translate. "Our ship is going inside that ship." He turned back to the viewscreen. "Now, identify yourself," he demanded smoothly.

"You speak her tongue, traitor?"

"Identify yourself," Unaii repeated, more aggressively.

The Space Pirate was unfazed. "Admiral Trykeon Re-Kuluk of the Zebesian Empire," he said breezily, as if he was introducing somebody else.

"The Empire is dead, or so I've been told."

"The Empire will never die," Re-Kuluk hissed. "Not while blood runs freely in Zebesian veins. Remember that well, traitor."

Silence.

"Yes," Unai said, "I speak a little of her tongue."

"Tell her, then, that we have no intention of harming her."

Unaii looked Re-Kuluk quizzically. "She may think otherwise."

"Tell her, then, that if I wanted to harm her, I would murder you both now while you sit helpless in that rickety boat of yours."

Unaii relayed the information. Samus said nothing. They both watched in silence as a large hatch on the destroyer opened up and scooped them up like fish being scooped up into the maw of a shark.

--

Inside, empty ATCs lined both sides of the narrow space, attached to the ship by docking platforms and upheld by precisely calculated magnetic fields, and were occasionally interceded by fighters, some similar to Unaii's own, newer class needle-like fighter, others more akin to the sting rays Samus had seen in an eBook in a vaporous childhood memory. The variety of the ships—not only in regards to the class, but also specific model; indeed, it seemed as if she could see the whole technological progression of Space Pirate astromechanics over the last decade— seemed amiss to her, as if the destroyer had not been issued a uniform craft by any prevailing manufacturer but had instead recruited any miscellaneous vessels it had found in its travels.

A great _clang_ resounded throughout the ship as they made contact with the docking platform. "Here we are, Hunter," said Unaii.

"Now what?"

"I do not know."

A group of twelve Space Pirates met Unaii and Samus as they exited the ship. One among the group, presumably the presiding officer, exchanged a few blunt words with Unaii in Zebesian. Then, four pirates detached from the group and escorted Unaii in one direction. The remaining eight formed a tight box around Samus and they headed in a different direction.

Before they exited the hangar, Samus caught a glimpse of a small Federation transporter, its crisp, glossy sheen glinting in the dark red lighting, projecting out like a beauty among beasts. Samus felt sympathy for it, somehow. After all, was she not in the very same situation? A human among monsters. But she wasn't _theirs_, hadn't been stolen, as she presumed the little transporter had. Or had it? Now, she couldn't be sure of anything anymore. In her time at Tallon IV, Aether, and the multitude of other planets and places she had visited over the past year, the political atmosphere had apparently gone in perturbing new directions. And yet she had not heard any news of a merging of the Space Pirates and Federation until meeting her most recent assassin. She had not even heard of an alliance, or even a peace agreement. The idea remained ludicrous to her.

But here she was, guarded rather than restrained, more of an unwilling guest than a prisoner on this Space Pirate destroyer, being led untouched to a Space Pirate admiral, whose intentions were purportedly peaceful. The idea of peace seemed was becoming increasingly likely in her mind, and she began to wonder what it meant for her. Why was the Republic hunting her in the first place? And would this mean she would have to end her individual crusade against the Space Pirates? No, she would never stop. She could never stop, could not choose to stop just as she could not choose to simply stop breathing. Not until they had paid the price for all the crimes they had committed in the universe. She found herself enthralled with the idea of striking down the Zebesian escorts all around her. _Cool it_, she told herself. What had happened to her guilt, she wondered? Just a few hours ago, she had felt the heavy weight of her murders bear down upon her. Now, though, she could barely restrain herself from killing her own escorts. But she knew must indeed restrain herself. They were heavily armed, anyway. She might lose an energy tank or two in the process. And she might need those later, depending on how congenial a host this Re-Kuluk would be to his unwilling guest.

The group made their way down several poorly-lit ships corridors, their heavy metal boots clanking on the steel floors, Samus trying futilely to memorize every turn in case the situation called for her flight. Each Space Pirate who found himself within their path made sure to remove himself and, as they passed by, shot Samus a look that expressed what she supposed was a confusing but potent mixture of curiosity, suspicion, awe, hatred, and toppled convictions; to many of them, she was sure, the existence of the Boogie Man had been essentially confirmed. _Good_, she thought, reciprocating their contempt in the corners of her eyes._ Let them fear me._

At length, the group entered a cramped, gloomy elevator. Samus felt a new wave of adrenaline rush in. Though the hulky masses made sure not to touch her in any way, were it not for her protective suit, the incisive odors of her escorts would have overwhelmed her at this tight proximity. The last time she had been this close to Space Pirates, she nearly had an arm clipped off by a prosthetic claw arm. When it came to Space Pirates, close combat situations were the worst combat situations, and she had just voluntarily flung herself into one. Well, she corrected, this was not a combat situation—just a very unusual situation in which she had no idea how to handle herself. More importantly, how was she to behave in front of the Admiral? She knew so little of Space Pirates; only the various ways in which they could die by her hand. But now she was forced to consider their customs, mannerisms, and norms, a venture upon which she never embarked, because, well, she had never even thought that Space Pirates might have customs, mannerisms, and norms. It occurred to her how easily it would be, if the human and Space Pirate cultures differed also on a rudimentary level, to offend Re-Kuluk.

Normally, she wouldn't care. But within this ship she was a hunter in a wolf den. Provoking him would mean certain death.

The doors hissed open to reveal darkly lit chamber. "Where are we?" Samus breathed. Then she was being shoved into the room. She turned swiftly, but the elevator doors snapped shut. She was alone. Perhaps not. It was dark—she couldn't be sure. The room was circular, a faint luminescence radiating along the rim of the floor, but neither this nor the starlight pouring through one section of the thermoglass wall relieved the gloom.

"I have long awaited this moment, Samus Aran," growled a nearby voice insidiously. A flash of red Phazon, but too late—a searing pain bolted from her abdomen to her limbs to her head, and then the circular ring of light was spinning in all the wrong directions.

But she knew pain. Knew it well. Her energy cannon rematerialized around her arm in a flash. She picked herself up.

She had been right about Space Pirates, had always been right, and felt foolish for thinking otherwise, for worrying about mannerisms and formalities and matters of respect when there could be no such things between Space Pirates and humans. With the Space Pirates, she decided with a sense of finality, of certainty, there would never be peaceful intentions.


	5. Chapter 5

7.11.2009—fixed "Nelunna" to read "Kan-Lana."

Chapter 5

Unaii tread through the poorly lit corridors in the belly of the destroyer, flanked on all points of the compass by his escort—a rugged quartet of Zebesians who regarded him phlegmatically, though a few quizzical looks indicated that they had indeed recognized him but could not connect a name to his face. He scowled. Years of go, his face and his name had been plastered seamlessly together. How fast, he thought, a man can slip into anonymity, into nothingness, when absorbed by a single obsession. Indeed, the damage Samus Aran had done to his life had not ended those years ago. No, her touch was an injury not unlike a severed limb. He would carry this emptiness, be haunted by ghost pains for the rest of his life. He should have killed her when he had the chance, should have plummeted his ship right into the side of this destroyer, killing them both. It would have been poetic. His species would have lauded it as the ultimate act of bravery and patriotism, an appropriate vindication for the one Zebesian who had neglected them all for the sake of personal vendetta. But it was too late.

And now, he realized, Samus Aran would already be in the Apocalypse Room. Re-Kuluk was an imbecile. Samus would not understand the principles of the Apocalypse Room; she would not show reservation if Re-Kuluk yielded. _Some god_, he thought, pondering the foolishness of his own species.

--

It was beast versus beast in the Apocalypse Room.

Samus sent a missile squarely into the Space Pirate's chest plate before he, proceeding unfazed, rammed into her. Then, the creature was squirming on top of her, wrestling with her, battering her helmet, its mass disgustingly pressing down on her waist and chest.

Now, in a brief moment in space and time, being abused by this Space Pirate, a piece of herself suddenly eclipsed the hunter, a swelling of loneliness and doubt and weakness. She would die here, in this tiny, dark room that might as well be a dungeon. She wanted to die here. She wanted to shut out the screams, to forget it all, to suddenly become nothingness, existence was not worth the pain of this fight, of another kill she would be forced to make.

No. She would not die here. She would kill this new foe, no matter the pain. She was the Hunter, singular, complete, and this foe would learn the price of provoking the predator of predators. She clutched the Space Pirates thin throat with one hand, dislodged her arm cannon from his mass and shot him in the face. He sprung up and backpedalled, clutching his eyes, screaming. He was just an animal. Just a series of chemical reactions. That scream was not indicative of any real agony. It was only an evolutionary mechanism designed to promote survival.

She was up in a second, charged at the blinded Space Pirate, and barreled into his midsection. She was over him now, beating his face with the blunt surface of her arm cannon. She wanted to crush his skull. She was going to crush his skull.

But she did not crush his skull. Her arm fatigued. The arm cannon slowed, then stopped entirely. She rose from the ground, feeling noxious, the crumpled figure of the Space Pirate beneath her, disgustingly still. Blankly, she walked to the other side of the room and collapsed on herself. She watched herself as she let her power suit melt away. Saw a forearm covered in blue—her zero suit. Was there another suit beneath that, too? No, this was it. This was her entire wardrobe, the one that she carried with her always: one power suit for the Hunter, one zero suit for Samus Aran. No bright yellow dresses or pink skirts for the girl. No feathers or daisies in her hair. No talking about dresses with the other girls. No handsome date, holding her hand, holding her hips, kissing her softly, then holding her closely as they danced the last song. They were all dead—the friends that she never had, the date that she never kissed. That life had been murdered years ago, before it had even begun. And so there were no dresses.

She was felt pitiful, and felt pitiful for feeling so. Some part of her badgered her, told her to arise and finish the job that she had started. To get up and make her way back to the hangar of this damnable ship, murdering every living thing on her way. No, that would be unfair. Why should certain beings have to die just because they had the misfortune of running into her? No, she could make a stop at the warp bay, overload the superluminal core. She could hack into the computer and lock the hangar doors to ensure that only she would escape. That would be clean. That would be fair. That's how she had done it so far, it would be stupid to change now, it's good to keep life consistent. What was one more ship?

Her thoughts turned to Zebes. Always to Zebes. The planet where she had been raised by the Chozo, where she had returned to find only their ruins, a Space Pirate base sprouting on the same soil where they had taught her to lunge, to spring, to fight. They were like a cancer, a tumor, she had thought, and she had exterminated them with a surgeon's precision. Had she known? Had she known that destroying the Mother Brain would initiate the explosion that consumed that whole complex? Had Zebesian women and children died in that explosion? What if she had known? What most disturbed her, however, was not her uncertainty. It was her confidence that she would have done it anyway. She would have pulled the self-destruct switch herself if she had to.

But her thoughts disintegrated as she a claw gripped her throat and lifted her from the ground. She felt emptiness close on her vision as her throat was constricted. Her arms flailed helplessly around, beating on her assailant.

Then, they stopped. Because she did not care anymore. This would be her penance.

Then, just when the rim of darkness closed entirely around her vision and the dizziness overwhelmed her mind, she toppled to the floor.

"You live up to your name, Samus Aran," said the Re-Kuluk in his ominous Zebesian undertones.

She blacked out.

--

Unaii surveyed Re-Kuluk with a potentially offensive look of surprise.

"I am shocked to see you are still alive."

"Why do you say that? She is a fellow _surzak_. You know our ways."

Unaii scowled at the term. If Re-Kuluk had summoned him from his provided quarters to gloat, Unaii promised himself that he would be neither impressed nor vexed by this petty Zebesian. Besides, Re-Kuluk's survival in the Apocalypse Room had clearly passed by a thin margin. With blue bruises spotting the left side of his face and burns marking the right, he looked like he had just crossed paths with Ridley himself, and their meeting had not been cordial.

"She may be a _surzak_, but she is also a human," Unaii said, as if reminding a toddler of a basic fact. "You and I may know our ways, but she does not. She would have killed you. I'm surprised she didn't."

"You insult my prowess," Re-Kuluk growled.

"I insult your perceptiveness."

"You insult both. And watch your audacity aboard my ship. I may remember you, but that is all you are now—a memory."

Ah, here it was.

"If you speak of my former status, I fail to care," said Unaii with as much coolness as he could muster. "I'd rather be a anonymous sage than an infamous fool."

"We both know that's not true. And, even so, are you the anonymous sage that you seem to imply? Going back and forth between each corner of the galaxy, a _oujak_, a Zebesian without an overlord, hunting another _surzak_ in hopes of mutating an immutable past."

Unaii tried to hide his scowl. "I did it for the good of our—"

"You did it for the good of your grudge," Re-Kuluk said flatly.

"I hope you came here with more than these petty criticisms."

"No, I may be a _surzak_, but, unlike Ridley," he said, beaming at his own comparison, "I have some sense of mercy. Be grateful that I found you, because he would have murdered you, though I should probably do the same. After all, your ideologies are responsible for the sad state of our people today."

Unaii sensed Re-Kuluk's anger. He was trying to hold in his hatred. And he was failing. Perplexingly, Unaii realized that he enjoyed Re-Kuluk's petty attempts at stoicism.

"Ah," said Unaii, tinting his voice with a sarcastic nostalgia, "what happened to the Re-Kuluk I once knew? Sad state of our people, you say? You may not have the temperament of Ridley, but you once had his sense of pride and honor."

Re-Kuluk's fingers tightened into a fist, and Unaii knew his comment had driven home.

"How can I have pride when our people stand side-by-side with such cosmic garbage as the human race? How can any of us have honor when most of us have been enslaved by the ideas of a foolish visionary?"

"Are you saying that I'm responsible for this Republic, this concoction?"

"Yes. You are, _oujak_."

"I had nothing to do with it. You pointed it out yourself. I've spent the last three years engrossed in a personal vendetta, as you say."

"Your absence is not a vindication. It was your ideas that spawned this twisted alliance between Zebesians and humans."

"My ideas were taken and distorted. They're not my own anymore."

Re-Kuluk's eyes lit up, as if he had been expecting that response. "Then you will help me end this."

Unaii nodded to himself. Finally, the real purpose of this conference.

"If you help me kill Samus Aran," he said.

"No. I need her."

Unaii was not sure if he heard correctly. "What?"

"I need her."

"Need her for what? She's a dishonorable killer, Re-Kuluk! She's massacred our people!"

"She is a _surzak_."

"Our fear, not our respect, gave her that title."

"Aren't they one and the same? She has power, Unaii. Potential. She can be used for a purpose."

"She doesn't even understand us. You speak of an alliance with a creature who does not even speak our language."

"Barriers that have thought to be impenetrable have been crossed before."

"And some barriers may never may cross. Don't smash yourself into stone thinking it's water."

Unaii's own words resonated through his mind. Years ago, somebody had told him something similar once. Yes, the memory rolled through his mind. He had said something like--

"That's a vast oversimplification," chided Re-Kuluk. "These matters are neither absolute nor static, and failure to adapt means failure to survive. Samus Aran is now the enemy of our enemy—and, by traditional war thought, is therefore our friend."

Unaii was not listening, though he knew the words of this conversation. He was trying to remember a feeling that he used to have. Part of him had believed it would return now that he was once again among his people. But instead there was only hatred, powered by one name, by a singular, powerful memory.

Kan-Lana.

"You are mistaken," he said, speaking as if in a trance. "She is an enemy of us, of our very existence. Her hate for us is as great as mine for her, her obsession twofold. She would never comply." Then, his eyes refocused, his mind once again turned to the room in which he sat. "Do you honestly believe you can turn her against her own kind, have her help the one species she has devoted her life to destroying?"

"When she sees the state of her own kind, she may reconsider."

"You don't know that." He sprung from his seat, tightening his fists. "Re-Kuluk, this is our chance. She is in our hands!"

"Stop pleading with me, will you? You are pathetic, Unaii. For a visionary, you have very little vision."

"I'll not stop hunting her. As long as she lives, as long as she breathes—"

"We can do this without you."

"You would turn away your own kind--what's more, your own kin--to associate with this—this monster!"

"I personally don't care if you agree to my conditions or not. But be warned. If you kill Samus Aran, _she_ will care."

Shivers jolted up Unaii's narrow spine. His eyes flitted to the red Phazon globe gleaming at the heart of Re-Kuluk's armor, then to the blur of stars outside the window. "Dark Samus," he breathed. "That doesn't make any sense. The animosity between them is unbreakable."

"Do not question the power of the Prophet! She is the _surzak_ of the _surzak_. Even Ridley bends to her higher will. In these confused times, she is our only hope. Unlike you, she is willing to neglect her animosities for the sake of her goals, for the sake of our people."

"Have you caught phazon madness from your pretty armor? You are insane, Re-Kuluk!"

"They said the same of Ridley when he united our people. She will not only bring us together; she will help us dominate this region of space. She will help us wipe out these petty humans."

"She will bring doom upon us all. Zebesian and human alike."

Re-Kuluk was silent. Unaii, wordlessly rose from his seat and strode indignantly from the room, feeling the irony burning into him like a pulse from Samus Aran's arm cannon. Re-Kuluk, speaking of cooperation? Speaking of adaption? And Unaii himself demanding the death of the Hunter? When had they traded places?

No, he knew when. He knew exactly when. And it had been for good reason. He had been a fool before then, just as Re-Kuluk was a fool now.

_Kan-Lana..._

He would kill Samus Aran. To hell with the rest of this nonsense.


	6. Chapter 6

_Author's Note: Sorry for the delay, guys! I just entered college, and it took a while to settle it and get stable. Anyway, here's an amazingly brief recap: Unaii is a bounty hunter who attacks Samus with the help of forces from the "Republic." Samus hijacks Unaii's ship only to be captured by a Space Pirate destroyer captained by an anti-republic rebel named Re-Kuluk, who seeks counsel with Samus. However, instead of a peaceful talk, Samus gets more of the same--a battle, which she loses, blacking out. After that, Unaii and Re-Kuluk have a discussion in which Kuluk explains that he needs Samus for his plans to dissolve the Republic (he also hints that he is working for Dark Samus), a plan that Unaii by default cannot go with, as he is immutably vegenful. This chapter begins with Samus waking up in the medical bay of hte Destroyer. Thanks for continued readership!_

Chapter 6

Samus was in a storm.

Once, when she was a little girl, a rain clouds blackened out the sky over the Chozo colony. She ran for the deeper caverns of Zebes, but too late; the impetuous winds, wielding dirt and rain, had swallowed her, and all she could do was crumple on the surface, her eyes stinging, her mouth burning, the dirt scratching against her skin through her clothes. She wanted to escape the storm, but she was blind, she was immobile, she was too burdened by fear and anxiety to dare to twitch.

They had found her crying softly to herself. They had taken her up, cradled her on her arms, and infused her imperfect blood with their own. They armored her in a power suit to forever protect her against the harsh winds of their universe.

They gave her the Hunter.

A decade later, the storm wielded her memories. The screams of her parents stung at her eyes. The explosion of the Space Pirate facility still burned at her skin. A Space Pirate clawed at her limbs, bit her in the neck, threw her to a place next door to death. But these feelings were not supposed to exist. They had infused her with their blood. They had given her a suit. She was supposed to be impermeable.

The Hunter had left her. To show how much she needed it. And now, it was taking back control. Never again would she mistrust it, she told herself, never again.

And so, just as the Chozo wove their greater blood into her biological fabric, so did the Hunter infuse her with its rage. Unfettered, uncontaminated rage.

The bright blue lights of the medical bay burst into her vision. A shadow looming above her began to make muffled noises, but she tore herself away from the plank that was her bed. The azure tint of the room did nothing to calm her; if anything, it gave her an intense feeling of claustrophobia and anxiety.

She had to get out of this ship. Now. Her enemies surrounded her. Waited to pounce on her. She had been betrayed. She had slipped earlier—had let her emotions and her immature self-pity hijack her instincts—and now she was in center of the worst situation in her life. How could she ever mistrust the Hunter, the entity that had rescued her from her inhibitions, who had bravely destroyed the Space Pirate colony on Zebes, who had avenged the death of her Chozo guardians many times over? The Space Pirates had butchered women and children, too. The Hunter was only being fair, was only acting on the basic rules of reciprocation that applied to all sentient life. If those rules were neglected, what kind of state would the universe be in?

The ones that resisted went down first. A few of the unarmed ones made it beyond the doors; most did not. It was only fair to treat them all the same; how and why should she discriminate Space Pirates based on trivial physical characteristics? Healthy, infirmed, males, females, adults, children—they were all the same in the beginning and the end, and could therefore only be treated identically in the interim.

By the time she stepped from the medical bay, her smoking arm cannon warmed the hand within. Never again would she throw out these simply rules of justice of fairness. The Space Pirates had drew first blood. They had killed her mother and her father and the normal life that she should have lived. What did it matter that she was taking more than they had from her? She was merely winning the war that they started.

She bolted down the corridors, letting her fury guide each step, too engrossed by her tumultuous emotions and new trend of thoughts to be irritated by the alarms echoing throughout the ship. Most creatures that had the fate of encountering her fled into the nearest room, the doors hissing shut just as they were splashed with plasma from her arm cannon. But these were Space Pirates, beings who worshiped a distorted sense of honor more than any god. Those who had trouble balancing their fear with their pride were killed in their moments of hesitation. She left a sick path of them in her wake.

With a slight flick of her mental will, she pulled up a construction outline of Space Pirate destroyers on her inner visor. She reviewed it as she downed a group of security forces. Yes, there. The engineering bay. She was really going to do it. Her stride weakened at the thought, a certain repulsion touched her stomach.

But it was too late. She would not succumb to her foolish hesitations, her irrational inhibitions, as she had when she had spared Re-Kuluk's life. The Hunter was not a beast. Not an animal. She was a rightness. She was a glint of fairness in an unfair world. She was a principle that had stuck by Samus and kept her alive despite all her doubts and mistrust.

The ship was in the Hunter's storm.

--

Zebesians did not sleep—what Unaii, upon learning the varied states of consciousness of human minds, had always considered it a compensation for the shorter Zebesian lifespan—but sometimes, albeit rarely, when free from their grueling work and zealous training, they took a silent, sometimes cogitative, moment to be by themselves. To, perhaps, examine the stars.

Her eyes had been like stars. Like two stars, radiating from the blackness, without any kind of purpose, any kind of activeness or agenda, but with the passivity with which stars burn.

He imagined what it would have been like if she had been with him, then. What the conversation would be like.

"Unaii" the conversation would have gone. "You are a fool."

"Why? Because I seek to right a wrong? Because I seek to put the universe into balance?"

"Is this how you balance a universe? Do you balance something by adding more to the heavier side?"

He would have been stupefied, as he had always been by such misleadingly simplistic statements. There would have been silence. He would have tried to find a way to say, "I love you." But there was no word for "love" in Zebesian.

_Damn my people_, he thought.

An alarm went on outside. He did not have to guess the cause.

He slid a pulse gun appendage over his right arm. A claw over his left. He had retrieved both from his ship. The claw appendage was simple enough, but the pulse cannon had been his final invention, designed solely for this vendetta. Injected with a anti-atomic core, a single pulse could cut through any material armor in the universe. Including Chozo armor.

"Unaii…" she would have begun.

"I'm going to avenge you."

"And so you sacrifice one honor for another. One is for our people. One is for yourself. You really are a fool."

"I am doing this for you."

"Do you think I really care right now? You, once a scientist, and among scientists once the most rationale—you, who alone nixes the beliefs of our people, seeing only emptiness where others see heaven—do you honestly think I care what you do in my name?"

He looked once again at the weapons. They wrapped around his arms like casts.

"I am not a scientist anymore." He rose.

"Stay," she hissed, curtly, looking with those eyes, the eyes that burned like two bright stars, adding guilt to the void that his apostasy had created and his obsession had deepened.

But that void was too deep. No memory, no imagined tableau, and no emotions precipitated thereby could even begin to fill it.

"No."

--

Samus took a breath. Before her, the warp core was a prism of colors as narrow as her arm.

By now, the situation had enervated her anger. Security teams became squads became regiments, and she found herself in increasingly tighter encounters. Instead of simply plowing through the next force, she retraced her steps and took alternate routes. Now that she was forced to cognitively assess her immediate actions, she found herself more discouraged to execute her overall plan. But the Hunter was recalcitrant, and when Samus finally blasted through the door to the engineering bay, she knew there would be no turning back.

The engineers had evacuated the area. She would have killed them all. Paradoxically, some part of her felt relieved that they had left.

But of course she was relieved that they had all evacuated. If they hadn't, she would have expended valuable time butchering them before proceeding.

The engineering bay, a rectangular facility, was sundered by a deep gorge—the spacious conduit of the warp prism, which stretched imperceptibly downwards into the bowels of the ship. The gap was bisected by a railed bridge that bypassed the prism to the right, and upon the bridge, before the prism, was the prime terminal. Her target. Or, rather, her means.

She approached it, walking slowly upon the bridge. Her internal computer detected the security protocols that could only be bypassed by the captain and chief engineer, or whatever he was called among Space Pirates. Unsurprisingly, the aged destroyer did not tout the refined encryption algorithms of its more contemporary counterparts; with a flick of her thoughts, she disabled those protocols, hacked into the system, and injected the prism with more antimatter. She felt the ship around her suddenly jerked forward as it achieved this unusually high speed. Perfect. Now all she had to do w—

A door slid open on one side of the bay, she crouched but did not move. A force of heavily armed Zebesian commandos dived into the bay with the Space Pirate's characteristic lack of uniformity. They trained their guns on her. She readied herself.

"Hold," barked Re-Kuluk, pushing two commandos aside as he stormed into the bay, the warp prism reflecting off of the core of his red phazon suit. He eyed Samus. She stood tall, her arm cannon stretched in front of her, meeting the crosshairs of her opponents with her own. This encounter with Re-Kuluk would not be like her last.

A few moments passed of extremely awkward silence as she stared them down. A glint of mania jolted through Samus' mind as she realized that she had been in this situation too many times before.

"Are we play this game forever?" she said brazenly, addressing the whole crowd, though knowing that none of them could understand her.

"_Ishuk kul-kana amal eh tek_," said Re-Kuluk.

The chill that splintered Samus' spine disrupted her aim.

"I want peace, hunter," he had said.

He was speaking Zebesian. And she was understanding it.

His eyes brightened with excitement. "I added technology to your suit to make our negotiations go more smoothly."

She scoffed, hiding her bafflement and anger. "Negotiations?" she hissed. It took a few seconds to realize that she had just spoken Zebesian. Again, she hid her amazement. "You tried to kill me." The words slipped off her lips as easily as the Federation language did. How?

"You misunderstood me, Hunter."

"I think I know when one of your kind is trying to kill me."

"It is a tradition, among _surzaks_, to confirm each other's ferocity on their first meetings. It is a ritual that is often abused when a more powerful _surzak _dislikes another—no one can be blamed if one _surzak _is weak enough to be killed by the other. But I wasn't trying to kill you. No. I need you."

The term _surzak _stood out to her. Her conception of it, she found, was vague. It roughly translated to "deity."

"_Surzak_?"

"A creature of power. One they will follow unquestionably." He looked to his troops around him. "A warrior, an overlord, a being that commands absolute loyalty—the top of an unbreakable hierarchy that has kept us alive for centuries."

"But I am no leader of your people."

"But you could be," he gestured to his troops. "They are afraid of you, Hunter, and the fear of a Space Pirate is the respect of a Space Pirate. They have heard of your deeds."

Their eyes bore on her listlessly.

"They have seen—some personally, others imaginatively, a few in their nightmares—they have seen the fires that burn in your spirit. They have seen you battle Ridley himself when you could have been a coward and fled. No, they would follow you. If you would only move in the right direction."

"What direction is that? The burning of planets? The torching of innocent men and women and children?"

"Those are not things you are unaccustomed to."

"Your people struck my people first. I'm just returning what you dealt."

"You are just like that fool, Unaii. All you care about is the past. What of the future—a future that concerns both our people?"

"My vision of the future doesn't include your damned people."

"Then we will do this forever. There are too many of us. And you refuse to die. What is the point to it all, Hunter? We will do this forever."

"Perhaps not, Re-Kuluk," said a voice from behind. Samus spun. Unaii stood in the doorway of the other side of the engineering bay, his own arm cannon—a rare type that she had never encountered before—trained on her. "All it takes is a little _adaptation_. After all, failure to adapt means failure to survive."

"Unaii, leave this fight for another day," Re-Kuluk growled. "The liberation of our people takes precedence over your sightless blood-hunger!"

"Do you know how I got here, Kuluk? I followed the path of our dying brethren. How many more must die before your sensibility overtakes your damned naivety?" He eyed the troops, gauging how his words had affected them. Nothing yet.

"You will fail if you are trying to break the loyalty of my warriors. You forget that I am a _surzak_."

"Of course. A _surzak_, one they will follow unquestionably. But will they? I could tell by the variety of the ships from your hanger alone that these pirates are from all clans, which means they've tossed aside loyalty before. Our species may have a haunting cohesiveness, but we are sometimes willing to suspend our sense of solidarity for the purpose of individual welfare. You yourself said you split from the rest of the clans as they merged with this new Republic. No, we are _all_ renegades here."

The commandos twitched, slightly. To Unaii, that was a huge sign that he was getting to them. It did not hurt that Re-Kuluk seemed to be cooperating—or, at least trying to—with Samus Aran, an entity they had all been conditioned to despise.

That entity, meanwhile, was using this opportunity to code a warp fluid injection sequence that would give her enough time to get off this ship and too little time for them to stop it.

Re-Kuluk, rendered oblivious by the heated argument, sensed the sudden wavering of his people, too, and grew furious. "Do not be seduced by a few well-placed words!" he spat to them. "I am offering you a future! He is offering you death! Do not let it slip from your puny minds that this is the same coward that, in his fear, refused to fight Ridley, a fellow _surzak_, in the Apocalypse Room on Zebes, as tradition dictates! And now he is nothing. Not a _surzak. _Not a warrior. A coward, an obsessed rebel, a heathen who would let his personal agenda override the welfare of his race!"

Unaii knew that he had hit on some points, but realized Re-Kuluk, calling on their adamant convictions regarding authority and honor, had reaffirmed all the objections of his people.

Seeking no other alternative, Unaii brandished his arm attachment at Samus.

"Don't do—"

"Your plan failed, Re-Kuluk."

Samus activated the injection sequence.

"I will kill—"

"Not before I kill her."

"Think about—"

"What in all of the universe have I to lose, you fool?"

He fired. The ship suddenly jerked forward with such violence that everyone stumbled. Samus fell backwards, hitting the railing of the bridge, as a globe of energy bolted past her face before exploding into several Space Pirates beyond. The close encounter left her feeling suddenly vitiated, as if the bolt had drained her suit as it swept past. Tiny bursts of light appeared all over her body as her dampened suit partially dematerialized.

She was burning. She was blind.

She flipped, backwards. Over the railing. Into the abyss.


	7. Chapter 7

_4.4 – Made sure the different sections are distinct. For some reason, they weren't spaced apart in the original. Anyway, thanks for reading!_

Metroid Prime: Renegade

Chapter 7

The blast from Unaii's cannon threw some of Re-Kuluk's commandos to the wall and completely incinerated two others. Before the dust could even ascend, a snake of energy pounced on him, and he suddenly was pulled helplessly forward as if he was attached to an unyielding rope. In the next second, he found himself hanging over the void, clutching the railing for all of his life.

He peered down.

Samus hung several feet below him, her flickering energy grapple the only link withholding her fatal descent.

Unaii cursed. With both his hands covered in attachments, his only link was a claw pinching the bridge. Even with his Zebesian strength, he could not possibly lift himself with the hefty bounty hunter. His hand trembled as it tried to sustain the pinch.

"I cannot hold us forever, Hunter," he hissed down to her.

"I know," she said. She yanked down hard on the coil. Unaii felt himself torn from the railing.

The world rushed past him.

--

Samus, wrapped tightly around the warp prism, leaned to the side to avoid Unaii as he fell--but she had inadvertently yanked him not just down but toward her. The mass of the plummeting Zebesian smashed into her, tearing her arm from the warp prism and sending them both down.

Down.

Samus' stomach lunged as it tried to keep up with her descending body. Interconnected confusedly, the artificial gravity pulled them towards the bright, hot light of their deaths.

In horror, she realized that a few seconds would not be enough time to escape her fate.

--

The bolts of Re-Kuluk's forces smacked into the clouds of dust that Unaii's weapon--whatever the Hell it was--had created. Re-Kuluk thought he envisioned a nondescript mass shooting through the air but assumed it to be some trick created by the fusillade of energy bolts.

Wait. It was not some trick.

"Hold you fire!" he barked to his commandos, as he hurried to the bridge. He leapt down to grab the dangling Zebesian. Too late.

"Lord, the ship—"

"Shut up," the surzak snarled, picking himself up and peering over the railing. The silhouettes of two bodies shrunk as Unaii and Samus fell deeper into the ship's bowels, where the warp prism piped superluminal fluid to the ship's fiery core—even Samus' highly resistant biosuit would not be able to withstand the antimatter inferno.

But it could withstand the vacuum of space.

He could save his ship and his plans.

"Eject the core!" he barked to somebody—anybody. "Now!"

A perturbing thought occurred to him.

"Die well, Unaii," he breathed.

--

A terrible white light stormed through Samus' visor. She reached for the warp prism--a blur of colors--but she was falling too fast to take a hold of it. The shot her grapple hook at the walls of the conduit--to grab something, anything, or at least slow her descent. The motion managed to dislodge Unaii from her, but it was fruitless and slowing her descent. As her final act, she activated her gravity boots out of the slim hope that the magnetism of the ship would overcome its artificial gravity. No luck.

The light was upon her, then, and a terrible heat seeped through her suit. She felt her energy--already depleted from Unaii's assault--draining at a fast rate. She was screaming, burning alive in her suit. She was a little girl again, being assaulted by a storm because she was too weak. This time, the storm was killing her. They had infused her with their blood. They had given her the suit. It still was killing her. Bright, searing, it was blinding her, biting her, kicking her, and when she tried to escape it was hunting her down to pommel her harder.

And then, there was blackness.

--

A bounty hunter floated in space. Life, the scans reported.

Re-Kuluk had been too late.

The Zebesian slammed his fist into the wall with enough force to rack his spine. "What do you mean, no life signs?"

"This is what the scans indicate."

Re-Kuluk snarled, striking the ensign in the jaw and striding off to the window, pressing his face against the glass. The scarlet illumination of the bridge fueled his rage. His plans had burned up in that core with that weakling of a human. If only he could personally dismember that half-crazed Zebesian that started this all! Unaii could have been so much more, like he had been but a few years ago, than the nuisance he became.

The stars stared back at Re-Kuluk tiredly. Somewhere out there, his people had been born. Though divided by their clanships, they had somehow carved out a unified destiny. What twist of space and time attached so much blind aggression, so much bloodthirstiness to that destiny? Re-Kuluk's religion did not have room for destiny. The sacred texts dictated that the future was only the perception of the Zebesians, and it was therefore entirely in their hands. But maybe there was something genetic, something that predisposed them to such xenophobia.

Unaii had been different, though. If there had been some genetic predisposition, he had managed to transcend it. The scientist had possessed a vision--ridiculous, yes, but capable of stirring the hearts of the warriors, many of whom had not realized they had hearts that could be stirred. A vision that there could be cities where there were bases. That there could be merchant convoys were there were hives of destroyers and interceptors. That they would be space explorers, space diplomats, instead of the thieving, sniveling race of zealous Phazon addicts free from any inkling of concern for their common future. He wanted to lash out at his officers, scuttling as they were to assemble a new warp core. Even Unaii had fallen from this dream in the end, revealing himself to be no better than the rest.

Had Unaii ever been intrinsically different, Re-Kuluk wondered desperately, or had he suspended his own nature with more proficiency? Memories flipped through his mind. He remembered sitting with Unaii's chambers on Zebes, before research facility had been obliterated by Samus Aran.

"Lord Sin-Unaii, I require assistance," Re-Kuluk remembered saying.

"Of what sort?"

"Humans. They are vicious and attack my women and children relentlessly. My warriors are too few."

"Perhaps if you would not also target _their_ women and children, you would not invoke their wrath."

"I do not know what you mean, _surzak_."

"Lord, let me tell you how I came to that title. But two years ago I was a Zebesian of science, working within the weapons facilities for Sin-Tuluk. Perhaps you remember him. He had a reputation of aggressiveness on par with Lord Rid-Ley."

"I do indeed."

"Good, you would do well to remember him then. His constant assaults against the Federation incited several systematic retaliations. My people, though they are a faithful people, grew restless. His foolery brought many of them to an early death. So I took him down."

Re-Kuluk saw Unaii's point and his spine tingled at the thought of a restless warrior of his clan challenging him. "But if we do not strike first," Re-Kuluk reasoned, drawing on the militaristic knowledge he had inherited from his father, "They will take the initiative."

"With faith, Lord of the Kan, your understanding of the Federation is lacking. It is like a wild beast. The beast does not conquer. If it has what it needs, it will be tranquil. But provoke it, and you will meet all the gods of Hell upon your bridge."

"So you offer no help?"

"Your people are welcome to seek refuge here. That is all the help I offer."

Re-Kuluk scowled.

"I expected support, _surzak_, not sanctuary."

"Sanctuary is all I have to offer. My people are no longer the barbarians they once were. No, they are scientists. Already we are deciphering the secrets of an organism known as the Metroid."

"So you will hide within your holes, dissecting vermin for all eternity."

"To dodge the beast's bite, yes."

Re-Kuluk trembled to keep his anger in check. This Zebes facility, he fantasized, would make a charming addition to his own territorial repertoire. He spun abruptly and began storming out of the room, but Unaii began saying something behind him that froze his long gait.

"Consider my offer, Kan-Kuluk. We all could learn something from that beast."

Re-Kuluk cocked his head a little. Then, he left.

Back on the bridge years later, Re-Kuluk had lost himself in his memories. Yes, he had been known by Kan-Kuluk then, _surzak_ of the Kan clan just as Unaii was _surzak _of the Sin clan, but where Unaii had forsaken his role to hunt down Samus, Re-Kuluk had been ousted by one of his own. That had been much later, though, when the formation of the Republic had begun.

When Re-Kuluk stepped out of his ship, he recalled in a related memory, Unaii was there. Re-Kuluk thought he would simply gloat. "Kan Kuluk, you have made a wise decision. Few _surzaks_ would be so humble."

Re-Kuluk glanced around him in the shuttle bay, where scores of ships were unloading their cargo. "Humility is not a virtue our people appraise well. Humility does not hold out against a horde of Federation starships." He said, recent events still very real in his mind. The Federation attacks had escalated terribly, and in his hesitation he had compromised the faith of his people.

"You will soon find," started Unaii, bringing Re-Kuluk back into the immediate dialogue, "that the appraisals of my brethren here differ from those of their brothers on other worlds."

"I hope my own brethren are not too perturbed by your people's eccentricities," Re-Kuluk hissed. Unaii discerned his message well enough. The clan of Re was a formidable force. Re-Kuluk, as a _surzak_ with a greater reputation and a more powerful force at his back, could perhaps take the colony with only moderate difficulty.

"You would do well to hope," Unaii hissed, his eyes easily meeting Re-Kuluk's glare. Unaii may have been a peaceful Zebesian—and a rarity at that—but he also knew that sometimes a little backbone must be shown in order to preserve that peace.

"Still your fear, brother," said a voice from behind them. "Your hostility makes for a crude alliance." said a voice from behind them. A Zebesian descended the docking ramp of Re-Kuluk's ship behind him.

"This is my sister, Kan-Lana" said Re-Kuluk, then huddled in closer to Unaii. "She can be a little blunt," he whispered.

Unaii was a _surzak_ and was usually more concerned with gaining allies than finding mates. The transient, hedonistic nature of Zebesian sexual relationships offered little distraction to his far more important duties.

But this one caught more than a passing glance.

Her eyes, he noted, burned like two stars.

--

The silence shattered; the blackness fractured. There were stars--stars all around her. To one side, the massive hulk of the destroyer loomed. To the other, its warp core burned brightly like a white dwarf.

Samus was not dead. But it was close enough. Her suit was critically low on energy, expending its last just to revive her. It flickered a little, and in the same second that she realized that she yet lived, she feared that her suit would fail her and the vacuum would tear her apart, the lack of pressure and the lack of heat simultaneously boiling her and freezing her.

Her concentration meant the difference between life and death. A slip of the mind--a spike of anxiety, a spontaneous distraction, one more wave of the despair that had come to define her life--would end everything. End the childhood with the Chozo. End the relentless pursuit of revenge. End the murders of her parents. End the otherwise endless torment. Had she killed enough? Had she enacted enough revenge for the universe to resume balance? Or had she only tipped the scale further? She smothered such thoughts for her life.

Floating in oblivion, the lone woman meditated.


	8. Chapter 8

Metroid Prime: Renegade

Part II

Chapter 8

Inhale, exhale. Inhale, exhale.

The world swam confusedly around Unaii. His lungs expanded and contracted at an alarming rate, seeking not oxygen but asylum from the heat of the core that had invaded his body. Deprived of sweat glands, his exhalations were the only avenue of escape for the excess heat in his Zebesian body. Each breath collected oxygen and a pain that plummeted down his fragile spine. The rims of blackness spread past the edges of his vision.

Slow down.

Her eyes had burned like two stars. Her heat had filled his body like this.

Kan-Lana...

And now, he had avenged her.

Unaii would have liked tangible evidence. He would have liked a body. But that was impossible. He had researched the Hunter's power suit, and the heat of the warp core had doubtlessly incinerated it along with the fragile human female inside. Time and time again, he had envisioned a different confrontation time -- something more drawn out out and excruciating -- but this would have to do. His part in her undoing had been direct enough to sate his thirst for blood, and in his satisfaction he now found himself in an odd state of carefree euphoria despite his unpromising future.

Surely, Re-Kuluk's forces would find him here. Surely, his antics had pushed Re-Kuluk far beyond the surzak's already slim capacity for mercy. But he wouldn't fight. He didn't need to. With the death of the bounty hunter, it seemed cosmologically reasonable to him that he should perish in turn.

"You lose, Aran," he coughed. "You lose."

--

Near one star in a galaxy of billions, in a universe with billions of galaxy, a lone woman floated in space.

Truly alone.

She could not admire the picturesque view splayed out all around her. For her, there were no stars. Only focus.

Focus.

But how could focus in such boundlessly frustrating existence? How could she think of nothing when the universe sparkled angrily at her every side, burned with the shades of strife and competition and war? Even if that blasted Unaii had perished back there, his hate would live on in every Zebesian and in every human. All around her it beat and breathed as if vital to life. There was no escape from it. If somehow she survived this, hate would continue to permeate her existence -- sometimes obvious, sometimes subtle, but always present.

Indeed, it seemed even to live even in the vacuum of space that eyed her hungrily now. Her suit flickered. Some part of her wanted to let go. It wouldn't matter. In all of the thousands of stars in known space, there had been one place she could call home, a harsh but beautiful place. So beautiful that the Space Pirates had raped it. So beautiful that she had destroyed it.

Somewhere, the shards of that place floated in space, broken and isolated, like she did now. Just a piece of frozen planetary dust, meaningless to the vast vast cosmic continuum.

Alone. Truly alone.

Fatigue settled down on her now. She had not the heart to resist it. Whatever absurd, enigmatic motivation to live preserved her focus, it could not defy the sheer reality of the situation. Each breath taxed the finite energy reserve of her suit. Death was a factor only of time. Her will to live, however mild, had nothing to do with it.

She felt herself succumbing to the inevitable. Her suit flickered dangerously. She recalled something the Chozo had taught her about the effects of a vacuum on organisms. First, the lack of pressure would boil her blood. Then, the lack of heat would freeze her flesh. In space, she would perish faster than her neurological signals could reach her brain.

Absolute peace with no price attached -- a bargain she perhaps would never find again. Not with her warlike profession.

The suit flickered. It flickered again. She felt her eyes tear up, mourning the friends and the love she had never found.

No. She was the hunter, a voice told her. She had traveled to every corner of the known galaxy and beyond, it reasoned. How could this possibly defeat her? Send out a distress signal to somebody -- anybody, it told her. She could hold out for days if she needed to, it explained.

But hopelessness killed even that voice. It drained the Chozo blood from her veins.

And she was now truly, utterly alone.

The suit flickered again. This was it, she told herself despite the protests shooting from every corner of her trembling body. It's going to be okay. Just let go. Let go. Let go!

She closed her eyes.

When she opened them again, a fleet of a dozen warships had appeared before her.

--

Admiral Petronus peered out at the smoldering warp core.

Damn it. She knew what this meant.

"Admiral, the ejected warp core has blocked warp signatures. We cannot track them."

The admiral was silent. Re-Kuluk must have been crazy to pull a stunt like this. Eject a whole warp core just to mask his warp signature and elude her fleet?

She turned to her first officer, Benson Torus. "Send probes and ships out to all adjacent sectors," she said softly. "Scan for residual warp fields."

Torus nodded. The task would take an absurdly long time -- at least a week, by which time the Zebesians perhaps would set to work more soundly covering their tracks. But it was the only option the fleet had, and he did not want to cross with Petronus. She could silence him with a few well-placed words.

A blip on a screen immediately caught Petronus' eye. "Ensign, you have found lifesigns."

"Ye-yes, admiral," the ensign stammered, embarrassed that Petronus had somehow noticed before he did. "One humanoid in the emptiness of space near the core. It must have some kind of biosuit."

"Send a probe to retrieve our friend," Petronus said. "I want all nine security squads to be dispatched to the probe bay."

"What's the threat?"

"Confidential," Petronus said bluntly.

"Forget I asked," Torus muttered.

Petronus ignored him. She had better things to do than to put Torus in his place. Besides, the unruly man -- clearly too young for a first officer -- was only looking to assert himself. Her passivity kept him in check better than any bombastic reprimand would.

For a moment, the fact that her inactivity had, in itself, become her psychological weapon against her officers amused her, but her amusement melted away as she turned her thoughts to her newest affair.

The most wanted outlaw -- aboard her ship!

The danger thrilled her. Her superiors would drool when she delivered the most wanted assassin in the galaxy straight to their fidgeting fingers.

Her Zebesian superiors, she noted with a wry smile, would literally drool.

"Tell the rest of the fleet to search the area," she said.

"And us?" Torus said.

"Plot a course for Kratosa Prime. We're going home."

--

"You bastard!"

Unaii blinked.

"You fool!" Re-Kuluk raged, slamming his claw on the table. "You are an insult to our kind!" he spat at Unaii. "And you have doomed us all!"

But Unaii wasn't watching him. He absentmindedly watched the streams of starlight flow past the ship as it cut through space-time.

This infuriated Re-Kuluk even more, and he reached over the table and engulfed Unaii in the massive claw, lifting Unaii clean off the floor.

Unaii did not even flinch as rough ends of the appendage bit into this throat.

His rage fueled by Unaii's unreactiveness, Re-Kuluk roared and threw Unaii into a wall.

"Do you care nothing for what you have done?" the surzak cried, lifting the large metal table and hurling it at Unaii.

Unaii lifted an arm to protect himself, but his appendages had been removed. The table painfully rebounded off him and tumbled to the side.

"The Hunter is dead," Unaii muttered. "My life is complete. I care for nothing."

And again, Re-Kuluk caught Unaii between his claws.

Re-Kuluk brought his face close to Unaii. His heavy breathing sent spittle out of his mouth.

"A twitch is all it would take," Re-Kuluk whispered manically. Images of Unaii's severed head rolling across the floor sent shivers of pleasure up his long Zebesian spine.

Silence.

"But my sister would not approve," he said, tearing his claw from Unaii, who toppled to the ground clutching his bloodied throat.

"Don't...be ridiculous," Unaii sputtered. "What do...you...care? No, you need me for something."

"You are a worthless fool!" he said, beginning to stomp on Unaii's spine.

Unaii rolled over, and Re-Kuluk began smashing his gut. "Don't you think," Re-Kuluk growled. "Don't you think -- she was my damned sister, Unaii!"

"What...are you...saying?" Unaii sputtered out as Re-Kuluk's boot repeatedly smashed him.

"I'm saying that you are not the only one -- forget it!" he screamed. Suddenly, he stopped and began pacing the room.

Unaii groaned, which earned him another kick from Re-Kuluk.

"You're right," Re-Kuluk said softly, his boot hovering inches above Unaii's mottled face. "I do need you."

"For?"

But the reemergence of Unaii's voice from the crumpled mass that he was ruined Re-Kuluk's composure.

"I need you to find me a damned bounty hunter!" he screamed as he stomped down, sending Unaii far from consciousness.

--

They were all Federation ships, Samus noted. But her relief was cut short. The last time she had seen "Federation" ships -- it had been perhaps forty hours ago -- they had tried to kill her.

One of the ships dispatched a shadowed object that approached her. Dozens of antennas sprung from the spherical object. The probe stopped short just in front of her. She raised her sore cannon arm pathetically, knowing she lacked the firepower to fight the robot, which was half the size her ship had been.

A hatch opened and the probe moved into her, consuming her. She found herself floating in the center of a compartment the size of a coffin. The hatch closed at her feet, shutting out the starlight. The compartment hissed as the computer pressurized it and filled it with air.

When it stopped, her last reserves of mental energy escaped her. The power suit dissolved away and she lost focus and consciousness.

--

When Samus woke again, her aches had dulled. She breathed more easily and saw more clearly.

The experiences flashed through her mind again. First, fighting two interceptors and a half-crazed Zebesian. Then, being taken into the Space Pirate destroyer under the suspicious pretense of peace, only to find her within the claws of the captain himself. Then, sabotaging the destroyer's warp engine, narrowly dodging an enigmatically powerful bolt of energy, and plummeting down a warp conduit before being blasted into space.

Not to mention suffocating to death, albeit only for a minute, when the warp core heat had overtaxed her power suit.

Now reinvigorated, her senselessness during the episode seemed little more than a silly dream. Why did she hesitate to kill Re-Kuluk in the Apocalypse Room only to go on a killing rampage after she woke up in the destroyer's medical bay? And, floating in space a few moments ago to her, how had she become so hopeless and woeful?

But even now, she felt a piece of that emptiness with her. She had a feeling it would not go away soon -- that years of chaos and confusion had cultivated it. That wound would not heal anytime soon, she knew.

She made a promise to herself. Whatever situation she was now in, she would take a vacation after escaping it. A long vacation.

But first, she had to find out where the hell she was, and what the hell all of this business about the so-called "Republic" was all about.

"I see you have awaken."

Samus turned her head to see a woman loom over her. The white stripe of an admiral streaked down her vest. The woman's slim, punitive frame and apparent youthfulness did not divert from the look of absolute confidence in her dark eyes.

Samus hopped from the bed and looked down upon the shorter woman.

"You are?" Samus said, glad to hear her own voice, once again robust.

The woman answered immediately. "Admiral Petronus. Fleet Alpha. The Galactic Republic."

Samus said nothing. Petronus studied her carefully, as if the bounty hunter was a puzzle waiting to be solved. "And you are Sam--"

"The last time I encountered the Republic," Samus interrupted, "its interceptors blew my ship to dust."

"You are a killer and a thief, Aran. Did you expect a warm welcome?"

Samus drew close to Petronus' face. Very close.

"The only things I've killed are space critters and Space Pirates. A lot of space critters and Space Pirates."

"The Space Pirates you so carelessly destroyed were sentient beings, with families and lives much like our own."

Samus' eyes flicked. Petronus' brightened.

"Yeah, and I killed them to protect families and lives like your own," Samus said.

"Thereby inciting only further violence," Petronus retorted. "Hardly a perceptive strategy."

"Have you fought a Space Pirate, admiral?" Samus hissed, putting the emphasis on the woman's title.

Petronus' jaw tightened. She had not.

Samus continued. "Perhaps you would think differently if you saw them chop your loved ones to pieces."

"The violence is over, now," Petronus hissed. "You are a relic of a past age. The Zebesians have successfully assimilated into the new Republic."

"Then why I am a criminal?"

"It is not that you deserve judgment. But you inspire both awe and pure contempt among the Zebesians. They demand your death."

"So it is out of practicality, not righteousness, that you send a woman to prison? Because I pissed off a bunch of Space Pirates? And you talk about ethics. You talk about a past age. Well, let's talk about this," Samus said. The bounty hunter drew close. "I just came awfully close of turning a Space Pirate destroyer into a cloud of cosmic dust," she whispered. "And I'm not fond of being caged."

"I have nine security teams guarding this medical bay around the clock, and you've never killed your own kind."

Samus scowled. "My own kind has never been my enemy," she said. "And if you've done your reading you'll notice I've never been too chummy with my own species."

"I can see why," Petronus muttered. The admiral swallowed and looked cautiously around her. "Look, as a gesture of good will, I will consult my superiors and petition for your release. Until then, I'm only following orders."

Then, she turned briskly and strode out of the room.

Samus, left alone, smirked sorrowfully. Good will? Petronus was just protecting her own men from a merciless killer.

The admiral was right to be afraid.

--

The medical bay doors hissed shut behind Petronus.

"Fool," she muttered, walking through lines of standing guards.

Aran's poor attempt at intimidation had been laughable. This would be all too easy.

Because the bounty hunter's heart beat with the blood of a warrior. And warriors saw things in black and white. Violence was their only purpose and their only method. Like all warriors, Aran was meant to be nothing more than a pawn in a cosmic game played by intellectuals.

And Petronus would use her new pawn well. Very well.

Suddenly she stopped and turned to the nearest guard. "Kill her if you see her," she said, loudly enough so the other officers could hear. "Hesitation may cost you your life."

It didn't hurt to be cautious.


	9. Chapter 9

Metroid Prime: Renegade

Chapter 9

"Why did you need Aran?"

The words lingered in the stillness. Unaii shut his mouth as if surprised by his own audacity, reminding himself of the dark red bruises that lingered on his body.

Re-Kuluk's long, narrow fingers tapped on the smooth table pensively. The starship captain did not look so good himself. The burns from Samus Aran's cannon were still fresh on his face. He had aged considerably since they parted two years ago. Unaii had not even recognized Re-Kuluk, his own brother-in-law, when Re-Kuluk found Samus and Unaii.

Unaii watched that old face meticulously, unsure whether Re-Kuluk's temper had cooled or merely recessed. But Re-Kuluk's unusually listless expression offered no hints.

"For the same reason you need any bounty hunter," he said plainly. "To kill."

"You have a whole destroyer for killing," he said.

"Not for this kill."

Re-Kuluk's hand slid across the table, and he tapped a few keys. After a dim flicker of light, a hologram appeared between the two Zebesians: the rotating torso of a Zebesian with the strangest armor Unaii had ever seen. The polished, bright metal sparkled brightly with a radiant orange heart. Re-Kuluk's red Phazon armor, brilliant alone, seemed like lead next to diamond.

But the armor only caught Unaii's attention for a second; whoever this Zebesian was, his eyes shone an eerie silver instead of the standard amber.

"Ark-Magnus," Re-Kuluk spat, as if the name rose bile in his throat.

"Ark?" Unaii, unable to tear his gaze from the eyes, tensed at the clan named. He knew of a hundred clans, but had never heard a clan that went by the Zebesian word for "titan."

"I had never heard of it either," Re-Kuluk said. "I still do not know its origins."

Re-Kuluk punched a key violently. The hologram faded, leaving the room once again to the faint starlight.

"Deep space," Re-Kuluk explained. "They conquered the other clans and came to some sort of agreement with the Federation. There is peace now, but not for our people. They slave under the rule of Ark, in places far from the stars."

"How is this possible? I was on the hunt for two years, no more, and our species spans many light years."

"You do not know?" Re-Kuluk said.

Good question, Unaii thought. For the last two years, his universe had been the hunt for Samus Aran. Anything and everything else had been mere background noise to him. What knowledge he had of the new political organization of the known universe was limited to his brief, desperate collaboration with a squad of Republic ships who were also hunting for Aran. At the time, he had barely noticed the regime change.

The thought of it now, though, made him uncomfortable. He knew so little of the situation. Was the Republic so malevolent as Re-Kuluk had conjectured during their last meeting? The Republic, after all,had wanted to see the Hunter dead as badly as Unaii did.

But Unaii, recalling his bruises, concealed his skepticism. "I've been on the hunt, Re-Kuluk. Tell me, how did one clan manage to conquer them all?"

"Their weapons were magnificent," the surzak said. "They killed hundreds. Thousands. Great rays of light. Only the Federation could match them."

"Did they assault the Federation?"

"When it got in the way. But Ark-Magnus had little interest in the humans."

"Then how did they ally with them?"

As he said it, he again considered the absurdity of the situation. For petitioning for a cease-fire with humans, he had been considered a radical among other surzaks. For learning a little of human language, he had been considered insane. Achieving total peace, had had always assumed, would involve an incremental, meticulous process spanning many lifetimes. Yet in a mere two years, a new, mysterious clan had swept in and had forged not only peace, not only a pact, not only an alliance, but apparently a joint government – the Republic.

"Relations were already good," Re-Kuluk said. "The Federation sat and watched as Ark-Magnus and his kin ripped into our warriors. After conquering all the clans, Ark had spent and stretched its resources. It could not afford a war with the Federation, when our own kin remained mutinous and honorable."

Unaii noted Re-Kuluk's usage of the word "kin" to mean the Zebesians of the known galaxy rather than Re-Kuluk's own clan. Strange times, he thought.

"Millions of our Zebesians remained after the wars" Re-Kuluk continued, "and instead of mercifully exterminating them, Ark-Magnus formed a pact with the Federation. Coupled with a revolution in the Federation, the two factions merged into a singular but highly divisive government led by a High Chancellor – a human – and Ark-Magnus. Together, they have put the billions of remaining Zebesians into slavery."

The mention of slavery instantly crushed Unaii's hopes. The Republic had wanted Samus dead as bad as he did, true. But he'd side even with Re-Kuluk before tolerating a slave whip.

"It is true," Re-Kuluk said. "Our people toil in mining facilities, away from the stars their gods. Some clans were spared from such indecency -- obliterated."

Unaii could read the fate of his own clan in Re-Kuluk's eyes.

"I did not know there had been survivors," he said. He had assumed everybody but him had died when Zebes had been destroyed.

"Had you stayed, you would have died honorably alongside many of your warriors," Re-Kuluk said. "Instead, you sought vengeance and lost your honor."

Re-Kuluk's rebuke left Unaii unfazed. Sure, a faint spark of guilt tugged at his vitals, but it was a small price to pay for rebalancing the universe. For administering justice.

"What do you need me to do?" Unaii said.

"What the Hunter was supposed to do. Kill Ark-Magnus."

"And then what?"

"I don't care what you do after it is done," he said. "But, with Ark in panic over the loss of their surzak, I will take the initiative, free the Zebesians, and unite all of our brothers. Mathas, my brother."

Unaii looked up, surprised. Mathas. It was Unaii's own invention – stitched together with the Zebesian words for "no," "war," and "eternity."

"Mathas," Unaii quietly echoed.

"Have you not see what I have done, Unaii? Look around you. These Zebesians hail from all sectors from known space. If they can band together, why not the rest?"

It began to make sense to Unaii, then. Re-Kuluk had said before the destroyer ingested Unaii's ship that the empire would never die. Before Unaii left to find Samus Aran two years ago, Re-Kuluk had tried to conquer nearby clans, with limited success. His efforts gave him a small empire—the Zebesian Empire—that was doomed to fail even before Ark-Magnus' march of destruction; Zebesians are intensely loyal to their own individual surzaks. But the revolution had broken Zebesian loyalty. Ark-Magnus had scattered Zebesians across known space. There was no such thing as a clan anymore. No such thing as a surzak.

"You're going to use this an opportunity to rebuild the empire," Unaii said. "To achieve mathas."

Re-Kuluk gazed at Unaii, letting the Zebesian absorb the new revelation. "And you can use it to reclaim your honor, Unaii. Complete the first step. Kill Ark-Magnus."

Unaii shifted uncomfortably in his seat. Something about Re-Kuluk's plan didn't feel right to him. Re-Kuluk had built the former Zebesian Empire upon the blood and bones of those who resisted it. He had designed it not as an instrument for peace in the galaxy, but as a weapon against the Federation.

He had used that weapon so well that the Federation sent a bounty hunter to deal with the threat.

Unaii hesitated. The broken pieces of his planet floated aimlessly in his mind as they did in space.

--

"Admiral, our probes have detected warp signatures," Benson Torus said. "We have Re-Kuluk's course."

Admiral Petronus nodded apathetically. "Thank you, lieutenant."

Torus, sitting in his chair to her immediate right, raised an eyebrow. "We're not pursuing?"

"Lieutenant, we're already halfway to Kratosa Prime."

"But—"

"Thank you, lieutenant," she said curtly.

"Why are we—"

"Thank you, lieutenant," she said even more curtly, then smiled when Torus did not respond. It got easier every time.

A nearby ensign interrupted her peace. "Sir, we are getting a message in from Kratosa Prime."

She could guess what this was about. "Route it to my ready room," she said. She turned to Torus. He had raised another eyebrow. "The bridge is yours, lieutenant. Use it wisely."

She rose and began walking away.

"Why—"

"The bridge is your, lieutenant," she said before the doors swished shut behind her.

The unwelcoming face of her superior had commandeered an entire wall of the room. "How can I help you, Admiral Janus?"

"Patricia! How have you been?"

Petronus faked a blush. "Fine, just fine. What brings you to my ready room?"

"Ah. Well, I was just wondering why you changed course rather suddenly."

Petronus tried to look dejected. "Re-Kuluk slighted us. Ejected a whole warp core. Masked his signatures. The chase is over."

"Any sign of Samus?"

Petronus felt a rush shoot up her spine and had to suppress a smile. She loved lying – its challenge, its suspense, its power. "No. We found the rubble of her ship. She is likely dead, sir."

"Likely? That woman is the greatest security risk to the new order."

Petronus also loved playing dumb. "Why is that, sir?"

"Are you kidding me? Her Chozo armor is embedded into her biology. It's always on her, even when it's not. She is a living, breathing weapon that is always armed. Nobody even knows what she looks like. If she even got near the High Chancellor or Ark-Magnus…"

"Impossible," she said lightly. "When would she ever get the chance?"

"Let me tell you—that's the thing. Ark-Magnus has a penchant for public appearances. He thinks himself a god, invulnerable. That's probably because all of his people think similarly. The High Chancellor has to scramble just to keep up with him. Problem is, the High Chancellor is definitely not a god, and not every human is pleased with his new order."

"But Aran is a bounty hunter," she said. "She can be bought."

"That's precisely my point. Who's to say somebody else won't offer her a better deal?"

"She's never turned against her own kind," Petronus said. She had read Samus' file well enough.

"She's never been too chummy with it, either. No, though she's always sided with the winning team, Samus has always been a third party. Do you know she grew up with the Chozo? Anyway, there is no room for third parties in the new order. There is room only for followers, not renegades. Nobody that dangerous should be free or alive and not be our friend, even if she's not necessarily our enemy. Get it?"

"I think, sir. I think. Good thing that she's probably dead, sir."

"Well, you said you found rubble. Maybe that half-crazed Zebesian we found finally got what he always wanted."

--

"You'd better shut up, Benson, or I'll be sitting in your chair soon enough."

"There is something going on here, guys," he said to the other lieutenants on the bridge. "Does anyone know what that lifeform is that we picked up?"

"Some guys in security told me that it's a girl," one lieutenant said. "Told me she looks young. She looks tough."

"So why did we completely change directions after picking her up?" another said.

"We've been pursuing Re-Kuluk for months," Torus said. "His band of rebels is the number one priority of the high chancellor. So why are we still going home, when we've regained his scent?"

"The girl could know something about the rebels."

Silence. They could hear Admiral Petronus' muffled voice from the adjacent room.

"Can anyone tell me why we haven't caught Re-Kuluk yet?" Torus said.

"Well, he knows what he's doing. The warp core stunt shows it."

"No Zebesian – no human – is resourceful enough to evade us that long, when we have a faster ship," Torus said. "No, it seems that every time we get somewhere, Kuluk is already long gone."

"What are you suggesting?"

"He's warned. Someone on this ship."

"We should tell the captain."

"No," Torus said. "She might… I'll look into it. No need to worry her unless we're sure."

Torus looked around at the other lieutenants. He was never any good at lying to people.

"You'd better watch yourself, Benson," said one of the older lieutenants. "If you're not careful, you're going to wind up with a frozen ass on a moon somewhere."

"What?" Torus said.

"Last time somebody went up against Petronus, she marooned the poor kid on a moon. Not pretty."

"Why didn't she just send the him to the brig?"

"Where've you been? She doesn't solve problems. She terminates them."

The lieutenants chuckled.

--

"No, Re-Kuluk. I will not help you rebuild your empire."

"It should be easy. I have seen what devastation your new device can wreak," he said, referring to Unaii's antimatter arm cannon.

"No."

Re-Kuluk's hand, planted firmly on the table, slowly balled into a fist. "Why?" he said through his teeth.

"What is the point of it?"

"No more Zebesian blood spilled by Zebesian hands. That is the point."

"I know you. I know what this will be like. And an empire that swaps Zebesian blood for human blood is not the mathas I envisioned."

"I make no guarantees," Re-Kuluk said. "If humankind provokes us, it will expect a reaction. If not, no."

"You've never advocated a reactionary policy before. Humankind never provoked us. But we fought, we killed thousands of them anyway. For what?"

"Unaii, we want the same thing," Re-Kuluk said. "We want to free our people. While we bicker about politics, they toil in slave pits."

Unaii looked away. Re-Kuluk seemed unusually sensible.

"And what of Rid-Ley?" Unaii said.

Re-Kuluk eased back into his chair, relieved that Unaii had retreated to more practical issues. "What of him?"

"Rid-Ley doesn't bow down to anyone," Unaii continued. "He's not going to take well to you as the surzak of everybody."

"That's why I'm not going to be surzak," Re-Kuluk said. "Neither is he."

"Then who?"

"We'll figure that out when the time comes," Re-Kuluk said. "Is that all? I have a ship to command. Are you with us?"

"One more thing," Unaii said, leaning forward. "You mentioned Dark Samus before. What is her part in all of this?"

"She is an ally," he said, absentmindedly rubbing his red phazon armor. "Just an ally."

"I hope so," Unaii said. And I hope that's all she ever wants to be."

--

The stars streaked across the window of Unaii's chambers. All two-thousand of Re-Kuluk's renegades were barreling through hyperspace again, heading for an empty cooridor in space where Unaii would meet his accomplice.

Make that two-thousand and one renegades. Unaii, once Sin-Unaii, was now Re-Unaii.

Despite the name change, Re-Kuluk would never be the same master, the same god, that he was to the others. And Unaii would never feel the comraderie that his new brothers surely felt. He liked to think of his new vocation as a temporary one, though he could not be any less certain of the future. But, to be honest, the fruition of his two-year vendetta and the Hunter's demise compelled him to think he was being reborn, compelled him to jettison from his mind his affection and contempt. Yet questions still hounded him. In killing the Hunter, had he sacrificed his only chance to know why precisely she attacked his colony in the first place? He had only his theories. And why did Re-Kuluk go through so much trouble to find the Hunter if Ark-Magnus was such an easy kill that Unaii and this new accomplice could do it themselves?

And how in the Thirteen-hundred Hells did Re-Kuluk with a fleet of Republic warships in tow "stumble upon" the one assassin in the galaxy he had needed, when Unaii had only been able to find the damned woman after consorting with the Republic?


	10. Chapter 10

"What happened to you, lady?" one man sitting on an adjacent bed. "You looked like you've been through hell."

Samus shrugged. "Something like it, anyway."

A doctor hunching over the man cleared his throat. Samus wasn't sure whether the doctor just wanted the patient to focus on the treatment or whether the doctor was reminding the man that he shouldn't be talking with the bounty hunter. Whatever the case, Samus thought the casual discussion, however brief, had provided a needed alternative to listening to trivial medical complaints.

The Chozo did not teach her to be introverted, but personal problems were just that: personal. And for her, medical issues had never been anything but personal. Her caretakers had known so little of human physiology; she wasn't the only one who thought she was going to die when she had her first period. The infusion of Chozo blood had been a desperate shot-in-the-dark at saving her life, not a calculated medical decision -- aside from that, they had stayed well away from trying to treat her for anything, leaving her, even as a seven-year-old girl, to tend to her own scrapes and bruises. As a bounty hunter, most of the time she got by with gauze, bandages, and her regenerative lifeblood.

But there were some wounds that not even Chozo blood cells could heal. Lying for hours on a bed in the medical bay, she finally found time to think. Why had she hesitated to kill Re-Kuluk after the damned brute attacked her? If she could not find the answer within herself, the price she would ultimately pay for such hesitation, should it happen again, would be her life – and, considering her profession, she would pay that price soon. The question, then, was essential: when had the screams of her parents lose the power to spur her on, to do what must be done?

Perhaps, she thought morosely, it was when the screams of her victims had become so voluminous that they drowned them out.

Truth be told, the Zebesians undoubtedly remained the same heartless creatures to her, more like the demons of human mythology than real-world animals that they were. Their directive was discord. Their method was violence. Though they had minds sufficient to adapt human technology to their own malevolent purposes and souls sufficient to cry out to the scorch of Samus' cannon, they had no hearts. Not that Samus had seen, anyway.

Perhaps not all sentient species are meant to have hearts. She recalled Dark Samus. And the way she -- it -- had reached out to her in its dying moments on Aether. Reached out, in the dark world that was its home, to the light spilling from Samus' light suit. What had spurred the creature's hand then? Had it reached out to destroy her with its remaining energy? Or had it reached out futilely to grasp the light, like a child reaches out to grasp the wind?

It was then, Samus realized, it was watching that creature engaged in such a imperceptive, functionless gesture that had ignited the cascade of doubts that culminated in her present state. She begun to question herself, had begun to believe that the woman the Federation hailed as a hero was no more than a killer who, in a fit of rage, picked sides in a war she never took the time to understand – indeed, that no one understood.

"You," somebody said. "What's your name?"

Despite her reverie, Samus' muscles flexed in readiness. She pacified them quickly, though, after examining the newcomer: a graying and unkempt doctor, looking vapidly at her and grasping a datapad.

"Well?" he said impatiently.

"I don't need treatment," Samus said, harshly but almost to herself, as though still lost in her own contemplations.

"If you're going to take up space in my medical bay, you can at least be fodder for my medical students to practice on," the doctor said, gesturing to three young students who followed inconspicuously behind him.

"Go away," Samus said, inexorably vexed.

The doctor nodded, as if confirming a diagnosis. "Ill temper," he said, turning to the students. "One of the most important lessons in any medical education. Now, who wants to learn it?"

"I will," one youngish, dark-haired student said.

The doctor squinted as if trying to discern the young man's face. "Are you new, or something?"

"Hopped on board at Altessa Prime."

"Ah! I see," the doctor said. "This is a warship, and we can use all the hands we can get. Well, good luck...Ben," he said, eying the student's ID badge.

"Thank you, sir," the student said.

The doctor hurried off to another patient, his two remaining medical students in tow.

"What's your name?" the student said.

"Go away," Samus said.

Ben licked his lips confidently. "You have burns all over your body, including your face," he said.

Samus' eyebrows furrowed. "I don't care," she said.

Ben sighed. "Will somebody please get this woman a mirror? She needs to know how ugly she is before she'll let me treat her."

Samus glared at him as she took a mirror from him. "I said I don't--" she began, but upon seeing the blisters that splotched her face, she fell silent.

"You could catch an infection with those burns," Ben said.

"I don't get infections," Samus mumbled, still engrossed in the image in the mirror.

Ben looked at her quizzically. "What's your name?" he said.

"I'm Sam--" Samus hesitated, then quickly scanned the bay. She found no nervous glances from the fifty or so occupants. Clearly, nobody on the ship but the admiral knew who she was. But why was the admiral keeping her a secret? But the admiral seemed her only ally, and Samus could do nothing but trust the woman's judgment.

"Samantha Burns," she said coolly.

Then, she winced at her own foolishness.

"Burns, huh?" the doctor said, smiling. "That's imaginative."

Samus gave a shrug. "I'm not a good liar," she said. "What do you want from me?"

He fished a small flashlight out of his pocket and began examining the burns on her face. "Were you the one we picked up?" he said. "The woman swimming in space?"

"Does it matter?" Samus said.

"Is that a yes?" he said, flashing the light briefly in her eyes.

"I guess it is," she said, biting back the urge to plant a fist into his enticingly exposed abdomen .

"We didn't ever find your space suit," Ben said. "What happened to it?"

"I passed out," Samus said. "I don't remember what happened."

"And these burns? Blaster fire?"

"Warp core leak."

"Of course." Ben clicked the light off and pocketed it. "Please lie down."

It made her feel vulnerable, but she complied. "Do you know what you're doing?"

"I may be just a student," he said, opening and shutting several drawers. "But, yes, I know what I'm doing."

"Yeah? How long have you been a medical student?"

"Two years," he said flatly. "Had an accident with your ship, then?"

"Like I said, we had a core breach."

"Right," Ben said, finally finding a small bin and filling it with water. He handed it and a piece of gauze to her.

"Put your arm in here, and wipe your face with this gauze," he said. "So what happened?"

"Does it matter?" Samus said, dipping the gauze in the cool water and wiping her face with it.

"In this accident -- if that's what it was -- you could have sustained a concussion, twisted an ankle."

"I didn't hit my head or twist my ankle," Samus said. "There's nothing else wrong with me."

Ben laughed forcefully. "That coming from the woman who didn't realize she had burns all over her body until I gave her the mirror."

"You know, even a second-year medical student wouldn't have had to ask if those were blaster burns," Samus said quietly, letting the gauze drop into the tub with a resounding _plop!_

Ben looked dumbfounded.

"And cool water was pretty pointless," the bounty hunter continued. It's been hours after the incident. The burns cooled long ago."

Samus hadn't seen many physicians in her time, but she knew the right way to treat wounds, especially burns. And she knew the wrong way. "She already knows who I am and where I came from," she said. "So why did she send you to interrogate me?"

The "medical student" smiled nervously as the scorched woman told him off.

"Okay, _Ms. Burns_," he said, his voice dropping down to an aggressive whisper. "I'm not a good liar either. But the admiral didn't send me. I sent myself."

"For what?"

"I've seen the kind of security they've put around this place. You're either a fugitive or an enemy of the state, and seeing how the queen bee has us flying all the way back to Kratosa Prime, something tells me the Senate doesn't have a standard cell picked out for you."

"You know what, _Ben_?" Samus said, running a hand through her long, dirty hair. "Something tells me I'll escape this ship long before it makes it reaches its destination."

"I can arrange that."

Samus looked at him incredulously.

"I can help you get out of here," he repeated.

"And why would you do that?"

"Because you're not the only enemy of the state – this state."

The medical bay door swished open. Ben looked back at the door and cursed. "She's here," he whispered. Behind him, the admiral marched stiffly into the room, nodding down the salutes she received from some patients.

" I can help you get off this ship if you'll help me," Ben whispered hurriedly.

"Your name?"

"Benson."

Samus raised an eyebrow. "Imaginative."

Benson stepped swiftly to the sink, hunching over and feverishly washing his hands.

"Doctor" Petronus said, demanding his attention.

Benson ignored her.

"Doctor!" the admiral repeated impatiently.

When Benson finally turned, a white surgical mask concealed half his face and a surgical cap concealed his hair.

"Yes, sir?" he said, his voice muffled by the mask, and then some.

"My instructions were for Doctor Reikkan alone to inspect this patient."

"Of course, admiral," Benson said. "I will find him," he said, beginning to walk away.

"Wait," Petronus said. Benson halted. "Tell me her condition."

"What?" Benson said, refusing to turn.

"You're the one who checked on her, right? Tell me her condition."

"Please, admiral," Benson said. "I am due for surgery." He snapped on a pair of latex gloves as if to emphasize the point.

"You will tell me the patient's condition," the admiral returned with the tone of an official order. "Immediately."

Benson nodded quickly and turned, brushed closely and quickly past the admiral to hide his features. He made his way to Samus and exchanged a secret, anxious glance with her.

In any other instance, the bounty hunter would have found the whole situation amusing, but now she stared back at him solemnly and helplessly. He could be her only ticket off this ship short of brute violence, and so far he'd done a shoddy job impersonating a doctor. If Samus' scrutiny had unraveled his persona, how could it possibly withstand Petronus' well-trained eye?

"First and second degree burns over much of her face," Benson said. He cleared his throat. "Clearly caused by proximity to an antimatter reaction, likely a warp core breach. Recovery will be far from swell, but I'll tell the doctor to prescribe painkillers."

"Did she say specifically where she got the burns?"

"No, she hasn't told me anything," he said, still pretending to inspect Samus' wounds.

The admiral smiled faintly. "Okay," she said. "You may go."

Benson clenched his jaw and shut his eyes, as though thanking God that he had dodged the admiral this time.

"After you bandage her up," Petronus added.


End file.
